Singular Sensibilities
by Beetlebum101
Summary: A seemingly ordinary Potions class has unprecedented repercussions for Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson. How will they deal with an increasingly difficult sixth year at Hogwarts and what alliances will be forged along the way? Set during HBP
1. Prologue

"Now then! Who can tell me what this is?" Professor Slughorn's booming voice asked us over the swirl of various potent fumes. A rush of excitement shot through me; I had come across love potions only two weeks ago while researching the top ten uses for flubber worm mucus. I raised my hand.

"Yes, Miss…"

"Granger, sir," I supplied. "It's Amortentia – a powerful love potion. Not everyone can smell it but for those who can, it is said to smell differently to each person. It plays on existing feelings of attraction."

"Right you are, Miss Granger!" Slughorn congratulated me, with a beaming smile. "Of course, while it is impossible to create real love, the scents and smells this potion evokes within individuals are perfectly real. Amortentia plays, as Miss Granger so rightly put it, on existing feelings of attraction, should they be present. Otherwise, it creates intense feelings of obsession or infatuation towards a person, or people, at random. It is, quite possibly, the most dangerous potion in this room…"

As much as I tried to continue concentrating, I couldn't. Slughorn's voice was becoming distant and muted and all I was aware of was the sweetest, most intoxicating scent that had ever invaded my senses: wild strawberries mixed with spring time and something... floral. I could almost feel it hugging and caressing my very soul. My eyes closed and I felt every muscle in my body relax. I was so relaxed, in fact, that I could almost–

"_Hermione!_" Ron whisper-yelled in my ear, while simultaneously poking me in the ribs. The sharp sensation tore me away from my dream-like state and I swung my head round to look at him.

"Huh? What?" Was all I could utter by way of a response. Ron's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you two?" He asked, intermittently looking between Harry and I. Harry, I noticed, was looking slightly flushed and almost guilty under his friend's gaze.

"Nothing," we both mumbled, leaning forward and pretending to read our text books.

I had no idea what had just happened; all I knew was that Harry and I were both lying through our teeth.


	2. The Dutiful Gryffindor

**A/N: The properties of Amortentia and how it affects people has been changed slightly for story telling purposes. Nothing to drastic, though. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**The Dutiful Gryffindor**

"That's it! I give up! I'd rather fail than look at this piece of parchment for another second!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his quill half way across the common room in frustration.

"Don't be so melodramatic, Ron. Let me see it," I sighed, lifting his essay and beginning to read it over. I knew deep down that he never put one hundred per cent into any of his work because he knew I would inevitably help him. One part of me was infuriated by it, but another part of me was so used to it that I didn't really care. I didn't want him to fail anything and if helping him out with his homework prevented that, then I would continue doing it.

"Look, you're almost done," I said, leaving it back down on the table. "Just do the conclusion. Read the last few paragraphs of chapter four and put it in your own words." Ron slowly reached for his essay again, toying with the corners of it, a pitiful look on his face. I knew what he was doing; he was trying to persuade me to let him copy mine.

"Fine," I conceded, audibly sighing. His freckled face broke into a victorious beaming smile, as I rummaged through my bag to find the essay I had completed days before.

"Have I told you how brilliant you are today, 'Mione?"

I raised an eyebrow at him by way of a silent scolding. He at least had the decency to turn a bit pink around the ears. "Just hurry up so we can get going," I instructed.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you," Ron mumbled, looking a bit sheepish. "McGonagall wants me to guard the trophy room tonight. Apparently there's been Dungbombs set off there every night this week. She wants me to try and catch whoever's doing it in the act," he finished, already reaching for my essay.

Harry and I both glanced at each other, both clearly thinking the same thing. "Why did she pick you to do it?" My bespectacled friend asked, as sincerely as he could, running a hand through his notoriously unkempt hair.

Ron shrugged, groping for another Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Bean. "Obviously she thought I was the best man for the job," he replied, in an almost proud voice. It was odd how he was so lazy about everything to do with his education but still took a strange pride in his prefect duties.

"Yeah, that must be it," Harry placated with a smile, knowing as well as I did that McGonagall probably thought him to be the prefect least likely to complain about such a task. I know I wouldn't have been best pleased being stuck with such a mundane duty.

"You can come with me if you want," Ron muttered to me, chewing on his sweet. "Keep me company?" He asked, almost pleadingly. I sighed. He was so caught up in his own head sometimes that he didn't think about anyone else but himself.

"I have to patrol the second floor corridor, Ron," I reminded him, sounding exasperated. I hated how I had come to lose my cool with him so easily but he irritated me beyond belief sometimes. If he wasn't so lazy I wouldn't be as harsh with him, I was certain of it.

"Oh, right, yeah," he mumbled, once again looking sheepish.

A dull tapping noise from behind me caught my attention, causing me to turn round. Ginny was sitting in the overstuffed Chesterfield armchair behind the table the boys and I were working at. She had a dazed look on her face and seemed to be staring off into space, her quill twitching uncontrollably against the leather. I hadn't even realised she was sitting there.

I leaned back, my wooden chair creaking in protest as I did so, and whispered as discreetly as I could. "Gin, are you alright?"

"What?" The red-head exclaimed, jumping slightly. "Nothing!" She quickly shrieked out, sounding defensive and governing the attention of half the common room. "I mean… I'm fine," she spoke again, this time barely above a whisper. My brow furrowed in concern.

"Why're you bein' such a weirdo?" Ron fumbled out, his mouth half full of a Chocolate Frog this time. "You didn't find another creepy diary, did you?" I'm not sure if he intended it to sound harsh, but it did.

"_Ron!_" I berated, swinging my head back in his direction. That was heartless, even for him.

"Don't bother, Hermione," Ginny said in a monotone, slamming her Charms book shut and gathering her things. "I'll see you tomorrow," she finished, mustering what she must have thought was a smile, whilst ignoring both Ron and Harry and storming off towards the girls' dormitories. The three of us sat staring after her for a few moments before I erupted at Ron again.

"What is _wrong_ with you? Can't you see that your sister is upset about something?" I was trying to keep my voice down, in an attempt to defer attention away from us again, but I was livid.

Ron huffed. "She's been like that for ages, Hermione, she's doin' my head in," he argued, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, essay forgotten. I had noticed myself that Ginny had been acting strange for a couple of weeks but she hadn't been this distracted.

"Harry, talk to him!" I exclaimed, trying anything to make Ron see reason. Harry's eyes went wide and he audibly gulped. I noticed his eyes darting around the room and he was rubbing his hands on his robes.

"I, um…" He stuttered, scratching the back of his head. "I promised Seamus a game of exploding snap so I'd better... you know." He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Seamus and Dean were sitting playing chess. I shook my head at him and he shrugged apologetically back at me, before clumsily getting to his feet and walking away.

I exhaled dramatically and gave Ron another stern look. "I'm leaving; I'll see you later," I informed him, curtly. The only response I got was a quick grunt of acknowledgement and I swiftly stood, my chair scraping across the stone floor in the process.

As I was walking through the common room towards the portrait of The Fat Lady I glanced towards Harry again, who was doing his best to ignore me. "_Boys!_" I hissed in frustration, as I passed through the portrait hole. "_Honestly!_"

* * *

It was almost nine-thirty and I could feel my legs and feet starting to protest; I had been walking around the second floor corridor for what felt like days. It had been a quiet evening for the most part, the only real drama being when Peeves decided to follow me around singing, '_Oh, Granger, you feel like a stranger!_' – A song of his own construct. A stern look and the threat of the Bloody Baron was enough to make him flee, though.

I was about to finish up and return to Gryffindor Tower when I heard a quiet giggle coming from just around the corner. I frowned and straightened to my full height, wondering who on earth was wandering around at this time of night. Whatever they were doing, it couldn't possibly be anything good. With a purposeful stride I rounded the corner and stumbled upon two young boys draped in Slytherin colours, preparing to set off Dungbombs. _Looks like I have found Ron's trophy room pranksters_, I thought to myself. I felt slightly guilty when I secretly wished they had stayed there, leaving Ron to deal with them instead of me.

"Alright, boys, that's enough," I said, in my most authoritative voice. Both were initially startled by my presence but slowly dissolved into smirks and sniggers, completely ignoring me and continuing what they were doing. Judging by their appearance they must have been third years, at the oldest. "We'll see how funny you think it is when we get to Professor Snape's office," I threatened. "You're in a lot of trouble."

"Well, well, well," a low voice drawled out of the darkness behind me. "If it isn't the Queen of the Mudbloods."

I felt myself go rigid and my eyes closed momentarily in irritation before I whipped my head round and came face to face with – probably – my least favourite female on the planet. A sneer danced across her lips and she looked just as wicked as ever. Although she had grown into her pug-like features somewhat, her sharp lines and upturned nose were still apparent enough that she looked strikingly hostile at all times.

"Parkinson," I acknowledged, as emotionlessly as I could.

"What do we have here?" She questioned, purposely bumping my shoulder as she approached the boys, forcing me to shift my footing to keep my balance. Although they knew their Slytherin prefect would probably be on their side, the two delinquents still took a cautious step back from her as she drew closer.

"No need to concern yourself, Parkinson, I'm taking care of it," I announced, sounding overly haughty even to my own ears. Showing any kind of weakness now would only give her more ammunition against me. Not that she needed it.

Slowly, Parkinson craned her neck and her green eyes met my icy stare. She looked mildly amused by my statement and raised a thin eyebrow. "Oh, are you, indeed?" She retorted, in an almost mocking tone of voice. "That's not how I see it. They're from _my_ House, Granger. I think _I'll_ be taking care of it."

I snorted. "By _taking care of it_ do you mean that you'll let them go once you've disappeared around the corner?"

The Slytherin shifted her weight over to one side and looked off thoughtfully into the distance, pretending to be thinking intently. "Yeah, pretty much," she replied lazily, fixing her stare back on my face.

"I'll report you for this." The words slid out of my mouth without me thinking about it and I instantly regretted it. Mirth was immediately evident on Parkinson's face and she proceeded to cackle, almost maniacally.

"To Snape?" She managed to bark out. "It's my word against yours, Granger. Who do you think Snape will believe? You – the over-achieving Gryffindor that he despises, or me – his Slytherin Golden Girl?" She finished, pointing to herself.

I stood for a moment, just staring at her. She was right. I would have to report her to Snape; McGonagall wouldn't do anything. And Snape _did_ seem to despise me even more than usual these days.

Taking advantage of my silence, Parkinson turned back to the two rule breakers. "Get out of here, before I change my mind," she hissed. The boys' eyes went wide and they looked to one another, not believing their luck. "_GO!_" They didn't need to hear anything else and scarpered round the corner, their footfalls and laughter echoing off the ancient walls until they had faded away completely.

A trademark smirk appeared on her face once again and after a moment she turned on her heel and walked past me, retreating back the way she came without so much as a glance in my direction.

"Hey!" I shouted, both uncharacteristically and a bit too loudly. I could feel myself becoming angry and I felt frustrated with myself for letting Parkinson rile me up – which, in turn, only made me feel angrier. "You can't just do that; you're a prefect!"

The Slytherin stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to look at me, a surprised expression on her face. Perhaps she had noticed my uncharacteristic behaviour too. A mask of patronising boredom quickly replaced her surprise, though.

"Oh, please," she droned. "Like you don't turn a blind eye to some of your fellow Gryffin-bores."

I folded my arms across my chest in defiance. "I most certainly do not!"

I was met with an overly dramatic roll of the eyes and a disparaging shake of the head. "Don't you ever get tired of being such a prim and proper know-it-all, Granger?" She challenged, finishing with a pout dripping with condescension.

Six years. For six years I had put up with Pansy Parkinson. I had put up with jibes and taunts about everything from my family status to my physical appearance and everything else in between.

Six years was a long time…

And I finally snapped.

I took a deep breath, while my heart hammered in my chest. "You are the most horrible person I've ever met in my life, Parkinson!" I screeched at her. "You're such a… _bitch!_ Do you have any idea how much people hate you?" I finished, gesticulating wildly.

I knew by the glint in her eye that she was proud to be getting this kind of rise out of me; I was playing right into her hands. She stood before me with her arms folded, looking infuriatingly smug. "By _people_ do you mean you and your idiot friends?" She sneered.

"At least I _have_ real friends."

For the first time that night, the girl before me faltered. The victorious sparkle that was visible in her eye had all but vanished and I could see her jaw twitch. Her cocky stance shifted too and her hands moved to her hips.

"At least I don't regurgitate text books in class and pass it off as intelligence," she bit back, screwing her face up like she was disgusted by me. "Tell me, Granger, have you ever had a thought or an opinion that you didn't read in a book?"

My eyes bore into her equally aggravated ones. It was clear that we were delving into dangerous territory here; every statement was causing both of us to lose just a little bit more composure. The two of us had had plenty of petty, childish slanging matches over the years but this was different.

"Have _you_ ever had a thought that Malfoy didn't tell you to think?"

She had hit me in the one place I knew nobody could justify hitting me – my academic achievements. Sensing an opportunity to get one over on her, I had hit her in what I thought to be her ultimate (and arguably, her only) soft spot.

Almost instantly I knew I had crossed a line. Her aggravation turned to pure fury. I watched as Parkinson's eyes narrowed and her lip curled. Her arms fell to her sides and her hands clenched into fists.

"_What_ did you say?" She said slowly and dangerously, taking two small steps towards me.

"I... I'm…" I stuttered out. What was I going to say? _I'm sorry_?

My sudden inability to string a sentence together seemed to push her over the edge and she lunged forward, closing the remaining distance between us and grabbing the front of my robes, forcing me backwards until my shoulders collided with the rough stone wall behind me. Verbal bashings were one thing but there had never been physical contact of any kind between us and I suddenly felt very scared.

Our gazes locked and the Slytherin's green eyes burned with anger. I was certain that my fear was clearly evident and I wouldn't be surprised if the colour had drained from my face. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't. It was almost like her cold, hard stare was holding me in place. I was expecting her to scream and shout right in my face, but she didn't. We stayed exactly like that for several moments before she began to speak in a low, gruff voice, her right hand still tightly grasped around my robes.

"That blonde twat may have certain _talents_, but believe me, intelligence and the power of manipulation aren't among them." The tone of her voice wasn't harsh or angry anymore, it was matter-of-fact. In a strange way, it felt even more menacing. "You'd do well to remember that the next time you accuse me of being nothing more than a whipped little _bitch_ – to use your own description of me," she finished, her eyes now narrowed.

I had been rendered speechless by Pansy Parkinson; my open mouth and wide eyes were a perfect testament to that fact. This was the closest we had ever come to having an actual conversation, albeit, an extremely unorthodox and aggressive one. This interaction got under my skin in a way I had never experienced before and it made me feel something deep in the pit of my stomach.

After what felt like hours, Parkinson slowly let go of my robes but didn't break our eye contact. She just stood there, barely two inches between us, with her hands by her sides, just staring. I don't know if she expected me to say something in response to her but just as I was contemplating it, she backed away and swiftly turned on her heel, her robes flailing behind her as she strode down the corridor and out of sight.

I exhaled deeply and slid down the wall, as if the release of breath took with it the last of my strength. I leaned my head back against the ancient stone and closed my eyes. Through the silence I could faintly hear the torches that were lighting the corridor spit and crackle and the sound was oddly calming. It was familiar; it reminded me of nights I had stayed late in the library and walked back to Gryffindor Tower with only those sounds for company.

I certainly hadn't envisioned my night ending this way – with Parkinson at the forefront of my mind. Very little of what she had said made sense to me, especially after I mentioned Malfoy.

"_You'd do well to remember that the next time you accuse me of being nothing more than a whipped little bitch."_

If that's not what she was then she had played her part thus far very well. Far be it from me to care about a Slytherin, especially her, but I couldn't deny the fact that for the first time I felt mildly intrigued by one. I felt like I had finally seen the tiniest glimpse of the real Pansy Parkinson.


	3. Debates and Mistakes

**Debates and Mistakes**

Several days passed without any notable incidents. Ron and Ginny were expertly avoiding each other; Ginny also seemed to be ignoring Harry for some reason and Parkinson and I had been avoiding each other too. For the most part anyway. The day after our 'conversation' we had bumped into each other in the hallway – literally – and the venomous glares that were exchanged concerned Ron enough that he physically pulled me away from her. "What the bloody hell was that about?" He had asked me, sounding almost annoyed. I didn't answer him.

I hadn't told anyone about what happened that night with Parkinson and I wasn't entirely sure why. It could have been the shock or the embarrassment of it, probably a combination of the two. As much as I hated to admit it, I found myself thinking about her more often than not and none of it was positive. My initial feelings of intrigue didn't last long. I kept thinking about what she said to me: about not being a pawn, about not being whipped, about my lack of intelligence… the memory of her words and her actions that night had begun to create an underlying rage in me that I had never felt before.

I had taken to doing my homework with Ginny the last few evenings, not only because I was worried about her but because she was so distracted herself that she didn't continually ask me if I was all right. If I got lost in my thoughts and accidently broke the nib of my quill through frustration, she just smiled weakly at me and handed me one of her spares.

The succession of uneventful days would soon come to an end, though.

On Wednesday I woke early and readied myself, going down to breakfast before most others were even properly awake. The halls were empty as I descended from the Tower. The way my footfalls echoed off the walls made me feel like someone was following me, so much so that I craned my neck to look behind me twice as I walked, finding no-one each time.

As I entered the Great Hall the first thing I saw was the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, gliding slowly in front of me. "Miss Granger," he acknowledged, with a gentlemanly nod of his partially severed head, before disappearing through the wall. I then noticed Ginny already sitting at our House table, pushing some bacon around her plate. There were only about ten other people sitting along the benches and Ginny had positioned herself quite far away from them, giving the impression that she wanted to be alone. I, of course, ignored her signals and instantly sat down opposite her.

"Morning," I greeted. "You're up early."

The red-head looked up and gave me a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, I had some homework to finish. I'm still half asleep, to be honest," she finished, tucking her hair behind her ear. And she did look tired. Her usual bright eyes seemed dull and listless and I realised I hadn't seen her smile properly in weeks.

"Gin, what's going on with you?" I blurted out, my worry overflowing. She seemed somewhat surprised by my bluntness but managed to give what she thought was a nonchalant shake of her head.

"You know what us Weasleys are like. We can hold a grudge for years," she replied, obviously trying to blame her bad mood on the current stand-off with her brother. I knew it had nothing to do with that; it had been going on for weeks. Still, I pressed on.

"And Harry?" I questioned, my voice a bit softer. "What has he done to incur the Weasley wrath?"

Ginny's head lowered almost immediately and she went back to pushing her breakfast around her plate. "Nothing," she replied, curtly. "Absolutely _nothing_."

Realising that I was accomplishing nothing, except maybe annoying her, I decided to stop questioning my friend. I turned my attention to breakfast instead, reaching for some toast.

"What's going on with _you_?" I heard Ginny wonder out loud. I glanced at her but she was still staring at her plate.

"What do you mean?" I asked, deciding to play dumb, reaching for the jug of pumpkin juice. She did look at me then, her eyebrows raised.

"Come on, 'Mione, you've been a million miles away for days." Her head tilted to the side, like she was surveying me. "Has something happened?" She finished, softly. I thought about confiding in her and asking for her advice on what to do about Parkinson, but a part of me didn't want to. A part of me didn't want to tell _anyone_ about it. Ever.

"Like what?" I asked, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. I kept my eyes on my breakfast, becoming suddenly fascinated by my toast. An audible sigh from the other side of the table told me that Ginny had given up on this topic of conversation as well.

"Forget it, Hermione."

* * *

Double Potions with the Slytherins had become slightly more tolerable now that Snape was no longer teaching it but it still wasn't an enjoyable experience. As if to cement that fact, I was about to endure the worst Potions class of my life.

Professor Slughorn was well known for being easily side-tracked and what started off as a discussion about poison antidotes, went off on a tangent about which magical scholars wrote the worthiest books about potion making. As this was something I had thought about myself, I didn't hesitate to give my opinion.

"The most important aspect of learning, magical or otherwise, is having a good foundation. In terms of potion making, Arsenius Jigger is undoubtedly the most highly regarded."

"Indeed, Miss Granger!" Slughorn's voice boomed out, as he tucked both thumbs into his waistcoat. "There are many out there who agree with you."

"I don't," a familiar, mocking tone sounded from the other side of the classroom. Slughorn's attention was immediately drawn to a table that housed four Slytherins.

"Oh?" He questioned, his eyebrow quirking in intrigue. I don't think he was alone in his surprise; Parkinson rarely offered anything during any of her classes. "Would you care to share a differing opinion, Miss Parkinson?"

I turned my head and saw Parkinson sitting with her back against the wall. Our eyes met for a moment before she straightened herself in her seat and addressed Slughorn.

"Most of Jigger's teachings are juvenile, watered down versions of real potion making. Anyone over the age of twelve who still finds Jigger's teachings informative or helpful in any way should re-assess whether they are truly magical." Her statement governed sniggers from her fellow Housemates, but it only made me smile. I knew what she was trying to do and I wasn't going to rise to the bait.

Without looking at her I replied directly to Slughorn. "What I am saying is that a solid foundation in potion making is needed before one can even contemplate the writings of someone like Libatius Borage or–"

"What use is a foundation if there is nothing to build on it?" Parkinson interrupted, again engaging Slughorn rather than me. "Phineas Bourne is the most influential scholar in potion making. Just because he focuses on the darker aspects of it doesn't make him any less worthy. Brilliance comes from both sides, don't forget. Unwillingness to accept that fact doesn't make it any less true."

At this, I did turn to look at her again and as if sensing my eyes on her, Parkinson met my gaze. Oh, yes, I knew what she was trying to do, all right. And it was starting to really irritate me.

"Of course a _Slytherin_ would be in favour of Bourne," I sneered. "The things he writes about in _Moste Potente Potions _are restricted for a reason, you know."

An evil grin danced across her lips and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table in front of her, staring straight at me. "You mean things like _Polyjuice _Potion?"

My heart rate accelerated and I felt the blood rush to my face. There were suspicious shuffling and whispering sounds coming from where Harry and Ron were sitting. _How did she find out about that? _As far as I knew, _Malfoy_ didn't even know about it. I chanced a glance at Slughorn in case he was suspecting something but, of course, he wasn't. He stood at the front of the class with his hands clasped together in delight. Debates obviously weren't common in his classes.

I was flustered now and I'm pretty sure everyone knew it. I swallowed hard and decided to talk in Slughorn's direction once more – anything to break contact with Parkinson.

"Well," I began, frantically combing my mind for anything even vaguely related to the topic at hand. "If we look at potion making from a more historical point of view–"

A cold, quiet laugh made my head snap back to Parkinson. "Let me guess," she droned. "You're about to quote Bathilda Bagshot's book, _The Potions of Merlin, Himself_, am I right? Even though it's widely discredited, on account of the fact that she was already known as 'Batty Bagshot' by that time?"

"Now, now, Miss Parkinson," Slughorn interjected, in a would-be stern voice. "Ms. Bagshot remains one of the great minds of our time."

"Sorry, Professor, I meant no disrespect," the Slytherin placated, in a sickly sweet tone of voice. Slughorn nodded and offered a smile to Parkinson while I offered her a furious glare that she didn't even register.

"A marvellous debate, ladies!" Slughorn boomed, resting his hands on his rotund belly and smiling brightly at both of us. "But I fear I have gone off topic, yet again. Back to page one hundred and thirty six."

My whole body felt like it was pulsating with rage. There was a deafening silence amongst the Gryffindors, while the Slytherins seemed to be buzzing with awe that one of them had won an intellectual battle against a Gryffindor; and not just any Gryffindor.

Parkinson herself seemed to be ignoring her fellow Housemates and was, instead, looking at me with a peculiar expression on her face that I couldn't read. It soon turned into a more familiar evil smirk and she capped it off with a wink in my direction, which served no other purpose than to rile me up.

Parkinson had got one over on me; had made me feel inferior. Again. Only this time there had been an audience. My fist clenched around my quill and I didn't relinquish my grip until I heard the thin wood snap against my palm.

So much for not rising to the bait.

* * *

_**Second floor corridor, last classroom on the right, 10pm**_**.**

This was the fourth incarnation of what should have been a simple note on a scrap of parchment. The remainder of Slughorn's Potions class had passed by in a blur and the rest of the day had passed by in much the same way. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn't even realise Professor Vector had set a homework assignment.

This thing with Parkinson was quickly getting out of hand and it had to stop, hence my note demanding her presence tonight. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say to her but I was hoping that seeing her face to face would help.

It had taken four attempts to write because I wasn't sure whether to be demanding or polite; direct or drawn out and, most importantly, whether to sign my name or not. If she knew it was me she may not even turn up. But, then again, if she had any sense at all she should know it was from me, considering the second floor corridor was the site of our first altercation.

Regardless, if I was going to send my unimpressive note tonight I would have to do it soon. I craned my neck to look out of the owlery window from my position sitting on an upturned box. The sun was already beginning to set, making the sky turn a shade of crimson. I was reminded of a Muggle saying that my mother used to recite when I was a child: _red sky at night, shepherd's delight_. Something told me there would be nothing delightful about my evening.

I rose to my feet, the stiff muscles in my lower back protesting as I did. I didn't realise how long I had been sitting there on that rickety, wooden box. I let out a groan of discomfort which grabbed the attention of one of the school barn owls. He shifted on his perch, moving closer to me, giving a hoot. If I didn't know any better I'd think he was concerned for me. I reached out and stroked the soft feathers on his head and smiled when his normally predatory eyes closed in relaxation.

"I have a job for you," I whispered, before folding my note and attaching it to his already outstretched leg. "Take this to Pansy Parkinson for me. Make sure nobody else reads it." I don't know why I was so worried about anyone else reading it. There was nothing incriminating written on it and it was highly unlikely anyone would know it was from me. But still…

With another hoot of understanding, the giant owl stretched out his wings and took off into the dusk. I watched as the mighty bird swooped majestically through the air, before he disappeared behind one of the turrets of Hogwarts castle.

All I could do now was wait.

* * *

The story of the Potions class debate seemed to spread like wildfire through the Gryffindor sixth year students and I was fairly certain Ron was the main culprit. I had overheard him rant at Dean Thomas about how Parkinson must have cheated somehow; that there was no way she could _possibly_ be that smart. I was as flabbergasted as everyone else seemed to be, but I also knew that she most certainly hadn't cheated. She really was a lot more than the average student everyone took her to be. The only question in my mind was: why did she hide it?

The deserted hallways of Hogwarts that evening served as a respite, and I relished in being able to focus all my attention on the Hufflepuff first years who were trying to sneak into the Transfiguration classroom for goodness knows what reason. As the evening wore on, however, the eventual solitude only made it easier for my mind to drift back to thoughts of a certain Slytherin.

Ten o'clock was crawling ever closer and I was beginning to think sending that owl was a big mistake. I was still annoyed when I sent it; the events of the day still fresh in my mind. What on earth was I thinking? What was I supposed to say to her that would make the situation any better? If anything, I would probably make it worse. I couldn't seem to control my emotions around her anymore, after all.

I was standing in front of the mirror in the girls' bathroom on the second floor with my hands resting on the sinks before me, staring at my reflection. I was ashamed to admit that I was nervous. I was nervous about being alone with Parkinson. Especially since I had no idea how this conversation was going to play out. Probably the most disconcerting thing about all this was that she had made me doubt myself. She had made me feel vulnerable and seemed to be taking great delight in embarrassing me.

I dragged my fingers through my bushy brown hair, trying in vain to make it sit flatter on my head. _Pull yourself together_, I mentally berated myself. _This isn't like you_… Without giving my mind time to get caught up in anymore memories and what-ifs, I pushed off the sinks and promptly left the bathroom, making my way to the last classroom on the right.

My breathing sounded abnormally loud as I walked along the abandoned corridor, only to stop altogether as I reached my destination. The door of the classroom was ajar and I saw that Parkinson was already there, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room with her feet up on the desk. I stayed there for a moment and just watched her; I wanted to observe her while she thought she was alone. People are never more themselves than when they are alone.

She held the dark wood of her wand in her right hand and seemed to be practising techniques with a grace and fluidity I had never seen before. Not from a student, at least. The delicate grip on the handle mixed with the quick yet strong movement of her wrist wasn't something one saw very often at Hogwarts. I'm not sure it's something that was even _taught_ at Hogwarts. The determination and pride that seemed to radiate from Parkinson as she did this was quite something to behold.

It was… beautiful.

So caught up in the scene before me I failed to realise I had shifted my weight and bumped my arm off the door, thus breaking Parkinson from her almost meditative state. Her head whipped round and the initial look of apprehension on her face quickly settled into a look of almost scathing realisation.

"Oh, it's _you_," she droned. "And here I thought it would be someone interesting."

At her words, I instantly felt that feeling of irritation and frustration she seemed to be evoking in me recently. I finally entered the room fully, closing the door behind me and taking a few steps closer to her. We kept our eyes on each other the whole time and I couldn't help but notice that, because of her sitting position, Parkinson's skirt was riding very high up her thighs. Not that she seemed to care. There was a moment of silence before the Slytherin raised an impatient eyebrow.

"Are you going to tell me what I'm doing here?" She asked, tucking her wand back into her robes, before throwing both hands out to the side. "I have better things to do with my night than be in the company of a Gryffindor."

"Oh, really?" I retorted pompously, suddenly feeling no nerves. "Then why did you come? You obviously knew it was me who wrote that note." Parkinson crossed her arms over her chest at my statement and tilted her head to the side, telling me I was right. "Just looking for another opportunity to get one over on me, are you?"

Realisation dawned on her face and she smirked. Did she really not know that our 'debate' would affect me that way? Or was this just another game? "Ah, so, that's what this is about," she surmised, speaking slowly. "You're upset because I showed everyone just how predictable and formulaic your intellectual arguments are." Her tone was matter-of-fact and I had to bite my tongue to stop a repeat of what happened last time. Instead, I walked forward to the first desk in the row where Parkinson was sitting.

"Do you get some kind of pleasure out of making me feel stupid?" I asked, resting my hands on the table, fixing her with my stare. The Slytherin frowned and swung her legs down from her desk, getting to her feet.

"You're not stupid, Granger," she stated, sounding almost annoyed and mirroring my stance, resting her hands on the desk in front of her. "But it's about time you realised that you're not the only person in this school with half a brain."

I had never, for one second, thought that I was the only person in school with half a brain. I was well aware of the reputation I had as a so called know-it-all and in a way, I thrived on it. It had become something that was expected of me. Parkinson's antics were calling that into question, as well as exposing her own intelligence.

"Why do you hide it?" I asked, genuinely curious. If I knew the answer to that it might give me an insight into why she was the way she was.

"Hide what?" She questioned, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"How smart you are."

Parkinson pushed off the desk and straightened to her full height. "Who says I hide it?" She replied, sounding aggressive once more. "Gods, Granger, there you go again; acquainting intelligence solely with academic achievement." She strode away from me, gesticulating as she did. I waited for her to turn and face me again from her new position at the other side of the room.

"I'm well aware that intelligence comes in many forms, but you seem to hide _every_ kind of intelligence," I informed her calmly, but still with enough command that she continued to listen. "Most people who know you think you're an idiot and, to be quite honest, until recently I thought you were, too." Parkinson stared at me and folded her arms across her chest again but didn't say anything. "The thing that really gets me is that you play up to it. And I don't understand why," I finished, shaking my head, feeling as baffled as ever.

The Slytherin lowered her gaze to the floor momentarily before gliding towards me, looking almost predatory and settling her weight against another desk. "Since when do you care about the reasons why I do anything?" She asked, sounding oddly cautious, like she was trying to figure out my agenda.

"Since you gave me a reason to," I replied, evenly. Our eyes met and I straightened up, making my stance less standoffish. "I don't know what this… _thing_ is that's going on with us but it has to stop," I stated, gesturing between our two bodies.

A cold laugh erupted from Parkinson and she suddenly became her old self again. "Oh, but I'm having fun; aren't you having fun?" She asked, rhetorically and sarcastically.

I felt myself get angry and my hands balled into fists. "You know what?" I barked out, my face contorting. "Forget it. This was a mistake. I thought we could sort this out but clearly I was wrong."

Parkinson's features morphed into mock surprise. "Granger finally admits she is wrong!" She exclaimed, her arms thrown in the air for dramatic effect. "There's front page news for the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow!"

Closing my eyes, I let out a huff of disgust and shook my head. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to scream and shout at her. Instead, with one last pointed look in her direction, I turned away and moved towards the door.

"Yeah, go crawl back to your Tower, Granger," Parkinson sneered at my retreating back. "I'm sure the Weaselette will be sneaking back in soon, too. The two of you can have a good old talk about how hurt your feelings are."

I froze, just as my hand touched the door knob, and instantly the atmosphere in the classroom changed. The Weaselette? She was talking about Ginny. How could she possibly know anything about Ginny? Very slowly, I turned my body back round to face the Slytherin. My heart rate had started to increase and I knew there was no way I was leaving this classroom without some answers.

"What did you say?" I asked with narrowed eyes, taking a few steps away from the door.

Parkinson frowned and looked at me like I was a moron. "The Weasley girl," she said slowly, as if talking to a small child. "She and Potter should be sneaking back from–" She suddenly cut herself off and I could almost see the cogs turning in her brain. The penny finally dropped and a wave of surprise laced with smugness appeared on her face. "Ooh, I get it," she taunted, purposely drawing out the short statement.

"What do you mean you _get it_?" I spat, growing increasingly tired of her attitude. "What exactly do you _get_? What do you know about Harry and Ginny?"

Parkinson clasped her hands behind her back and started walking towards me, lazily. "It's funny, Granger," she said, beginning to circle me slowly. "You accuse me of having no friends." I felt her behind me, at my shoulder, and she was so close I could feel her breath on my neck. "When you don't even know what your so called _real_ friends are up to," she finished in a whisper, sending a shiver down my spine.

Anger was once again beginning to bubble under my skin and my head craned to look at Parkinson, who was still standing at my shoulder, our faces mere inches apart. I don't think I had ever seen her look as sanctimonious as she did in that moment. Once she saw just how riled up I was, she gave me a smarmy smile before turning away and making her way to the door behind me.

She wasn't going to get the last word. Not this time.

Before I could stop myself, I had swung round and my hand had reached inside my robes, pulling out my wand. "_PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_!"

A jet of white light shot from the tip of the vine wood and hit Parkinson between her shoulder blades. From that point, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She instantly froze, becoming like a statue, before painfully slowly falling backwards and hitting the flagstone floor with a dull thud.

All the anger I felt immediately dissipated and was replaced with fear, as my eyes widened in panic. _What have you done?! _My mind exclaimed. I saw Parkinson's eyes darting around, trying to figure out what had just happened while simultaneously attempting to move her petrified limbs. I didn't mean to hex her, it just happened. My anger got the better of me and… it just happened.

Just then, an almost demonic _meow_ sounded from right outside the closed door and that meant only one thing: Filch was coming. My heart sank.

"What have you found, My Sweet?" Filch's monotonous, slimy voice sounded from dangerously close to the classroom. My wand hand was trembling slightly and I could feel my heartbeat hammering in my ears. I stole another glance down at Parkinson's statuesque form and I knew by the frantic look in her eye and her muted sounds of protest that she had identified the danger too.

He was right outside the door; I couldn't revive her in time without getting caught. I couldn't help but think if our roles were reversed, what would Parkinson do...?

"I-I'll come back for you," I breathed out in a rush, already stepping over her motionless body and reaching for the door knob.

I opened the door just wide enough for me to slink through and I immediately pulled it closed behind me. Mrs Norris was the first thing I saw; her glowing red eyes and mangy fur only adding to her already notoriously un-cat-like nature. Filch was almost level with her by this stage and a rancid sneer appeared on his face when he recognised me.

"Well, well, Granger, we _are_ in trouble, aren't we?" He taunted, in an almost sing-song voice, his eyes twinkling in victory.

"Oh, Mr Filch, thank goodness you're here!" I replied, ignoring what he had said completely, trying to sound as relieved as possible. Filch was taken aback by my apparent glee at seeing him, so much so that he actually took a step away from me. Nobody was _ever_ pleased to see the Hogwarts caretaker. "I just caught two third year students letting off Dungbombs along the Charms corridor. They ran off before I could catch them and I've been searching up here for them. We really should get moving if we want to catch them." I made a move away from the door, hoping to draw him from the classroom. No such luck.

"Not so fast, Granger," he growled out, grabbing my upper arm hard enough to make me stop. He raised a hand to his chin and surveyed me, scratching at his stubble with gnarled fingernails. "Third years, you say?"

It was well known that Filch seemed to despise third year students above all others. Nobody really knew why but I had a feeling it was something to do with a prank Fred and George Weasley had pulled during their third year here.

"What House?" He demanded.

"Um, Slytherin," I replied, remembering the two Slytherins I had come across several nights ago. The ones Parkinson had let go_. _

_Parkinson…_

He stared at me again for a moment before nodding his head. "I'll get 'em," he barked out. "Now, get to bed."

My face fell. "But–" I began to protest, but I was cut off.

"Professor McGonagall will be very interested to know why a prefect is outta bed after ten o'clock when she was s'posed to be back in her common room by nine-thirty." He was right. There was no reason for me to be out this late, even if I was claiming to be doing something noble. Filch then took a step towards me and looked me straight in the eye. "If I find out you're lyin', Granger, I'll have you hangin' by your thumbs in the dungeon!"

I knew that was an empty threat; telling McGonagall, however, was not. I couldn't let my Head of House find out about this because she would drag the truth out of me. I could never seem to lie to her.

A sharp poke to my shoulder jolted me from my thoughts and by the look on Filch's face, it seemed like he wanted to frogmarch me to Gryffindor Tower before trying to find my fictitious delinquents. I had no choice but to be ushered away from the classroom where Parkinson lay paralysed and helpless. _It's alright; you can still come back for her…_

It didn't take long to reach the bottom of the stone staircase that led to Gryffindor Tower. Before I started to ascend I turned to face Filch, not surprised to still see the same look of sneering victory on his face. "I better not catch you outta bed again, Granger," he threatened, before walking back the way we had just come. Mrs Norris, however, remained seated on the cold, stone floor and stared straight at me, her red eyes looking more frightening than ever.

I backed away slowly, before turning and scurrying up the steps as fast as I could. I found The Fat Lady dozing lightly as I reached the top and she was less than pleased to be woken up.

"What time do you call this?" She questioned grumpily, her voice sounding hoarse.

"Tapeworm," I uttered, not wanting to chat and suddenly feeling very nauseous.

"Hmm, indeed," The Fat Lady yawned out, swinging the portrait open and granting me access to the common room.

As I entered, I was pleased to see that it was deserted; my only company was the dying embers of the fire. I instantly walked towards the back of one of the single-seat Chesterfield chairs and leaned my weight against it. My stomach was feeling increasingly unsettled and I was starting to feel light headed.

I was going to be sick.

I shuffled across the common room as best I could, trying to get to the girls' bathrooms. Unfortunately, my stomach had other ideas. I managed to make it as far as the bottom step of the spiral staircase that led to the dormitories before I vomited what remained of my dinner all over the stone floor. After a moment of retching, I fell back against the wall and closed my eyes. _It must have been something you ate, _I told myself.

After I caught my breath, I cast a _Tergeo_ charm and cleaned up the mess I had made. Although I no longer felt physically sick, I still felt incredibly light headed. I knew I had to go back and get Parkinson but I could barely walk in a straight line. I decided to sit in front of the fire for a few minutes to regain my equilibrium. _I just need five minutes_, I told myself, as I made it to one of the sofas. _Just five minutes, then I can go back for her_. The fire may have been dying but it still radiated a pleasant, comforting heat and I felt my eyelids get heavy.

_Just five more minutes…_


	4. Temper, Temper

**A/N: Thank you to all the people who have read, reviewed, followed and made this a favourite. Your support means the world to me. I always appreciate love for this under-represented pairing :)**

* * *

**Temper, Temper**

A streak of early morning sunlight clawed its way through the narrow windows of Gryffindor Tower. I stirred in my half-conscious state and was suddenly hit with a dull, throbbing ache in my neck when I shifted. _Fantastic_, I thought to myself as I cracked open one eye against the harsh, bright light shining directly into my face. I sat up straighter and raised my hand to rub the tight muscles in my neck, slowly realising that something wasn't quite right. _Why was I asleep in the common room? _

I frowned and looked around me. There was nobody else there and if the fire was anything to go by, there had been nobody else there for quite some time. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember what had happened and almost instantly, all the events of the previous night came flooding back to me. The glowing red eyes of Mrs Norris; Filch's intrusion and–

"Parkinson!" I whisper-yelled into the silence, suddenly feeling wide awake. I had left her in the classroom. I hadn't gone back for her. I had fallen asleep.

I leapt off the sofa, my stiff neck forgotten, and headed straight for the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was snoring loudly so the chances of her noticing me leaving were slim to none.

The amount of noise I was making as I ran through the empty hallways probably wasn't wise but I couldn't bring myself to care. Besides, judging by the amount of light coming in from outside, it couldn't have been much later than five-thirty in the morning. The only thing I was in danger of meeting in the corridors at that time of the morning was a school ghost.

It seemed to take twice as long to get to the second floor corridor as it usually did, despite the fact that I was running. I was out of breath by the time I got there and my pulse was racing, resulting from a mixture of exhaustion and panic. I paused for a second outside the closed door of the classroom before swinging it open and coming face to face with… nothing. She wasn't there. My eyes widened in surprise and I just stood there dumbly for a moment, staring at the spot on the floor where I had left her, frozen and helpless.

"Parkinson?" I muttered stupidly, looking around the room but finding only desks and chairs. Logically, I knew if she wasn't where I left her then she wouldn't be there at all. The logical part of my brain didn't seem to be working at that moment, though, as I kept frantically looking in every possible hiding place, including under the teacher's desk and in the store cupboard.

_Where on earth is she?_ I wondered, as I pulled out a chair and fell into it. The only way she could have got away is if someone found her before I did. The very thought of that made my stomach clench. If someone found her she would inevitably tell them how she ended up paralysed on the floor and that meant I was in trouble. A _lot_ of trouble. Not only had I been out of bed after hours, but I had also hexed a fellow prefect and left her there all night; not to mention the tangled web of lies I had concocted when I was caught by Filch.

I placed my elbows on the desk in front of me and held my head in my hands. If only I hadn't sent that owl. If only I could have controlled my temper. If only I hadn't caught those two Slytherins setting off Dungbombs that very first night. If only…

_What am I supposed to do now?_

* * *

At lunchtime that same day I sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall with my chin cupped in my hand and my head tilted towards the enchanted ceiling, a sense of anxiousness engulfing me. The weather seemed overcast with a chance of storms. How very fitting.

I was waiting for Harry and Ron to arrive from the library – assuming, of course, that they had been there. They just had a free period but that didn't mean they had used it productively.

My eyes drifted to the huge luncheon spread before me. There was everything from chicken legs to pancakes to sandwiches, and yet, I still couldn't manage to find my appetite. I had simply been nursing a goblet of pumpkin juice for the last five minutes. I hadn't felt quite right since I was sick the night before. _I hope I'm not coming down with something_…

With a long sigh I began to scan the other tables in the Hall, which were quickly filling with students. My gaze lingered on the Slytherin table, looking for one person in particular. She wasn't there.

Parkinson hadn't appeared at breakfast that morning either, nor had she turned up for Potions class and I was now starting to panic. Was something wrong? Was it something to do with me? The _Petrificus Totalus_ spell caused paralysis until it was reversed. That's it. There were no other side effects. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that her absence had something to do with what happened last night. The question that was racing through my mind most, though, was: why hadn't she reported me? Because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she hadn't. I would have known first thing this morning if she had.

"Hey, 'Mione," Ron greeted, parking himself beside me on the bench, bringing me back to reality. He was closely followed by Harry, Neville and Ginny, who all positioned themselves around the table as they entered one by one.

"You'll never guess what Dean just told me," Ron announced to us, gleefully. He was addressing everyone but seemed to be engaging me more than the others. "He has Astronomy with the Slytherins and Malfoy said Parkinson's in the hospital wing!"

I had chosen that moment to take a sip of pumpkin juice and it was a bad move. At the mention of Parkinson's name I choked and proceeded to cough uncontrollably. Harry, rather unhelpfully, raised his hand and smacked my back repeatedly. I lifted my hand in his direction, silently telling him to stop, aware that my face had now turned an impressive shade of red. "I-I'm fine," I eventually managed to say in a gravelly voice. "Juice went down the wrong way. Why is she in the hospital wing?" I asked, still not sounding like myself and trying to seem as disinterested as possible.

"Don't know," Ron admitted, sounding a bit miffed that he didn't know the exact nature of Parkinson's ailment.

"Maybe she poisoned herself with one of her own potions," Neville mumbled embarrassedly, referring to the time he had done exactly that and had to spend nearly a week with Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Ginny, who was sitting beside him on the opposite side of the table, nudged his shoulder and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Maybe somebody pushed her down the stairs," Harry added, reaching for a ham sandwich. "I've wanted to do that on more than one occasion," he confessed, in a somewhat joking voice. His admission made Ron smirk while Neville nodded fervently in agreement.

"Nah, I bet someone hexed her right in her big ugly face!" Ron's callous statement made my breath hitch and there was an unpleasant tugging sensation in my stomach. What seemed to be banter between the three boys was quickly becoming distressing for me and, to be honest, Ginny didn't look too impressed either.

I took a slow, calming breath and cleared my throat. "I'm sure it's nothing of the sort. She's probably just ill." I tried to keep the tone of my voice as normal as possible but it came out sounding unusually high pitched. I had unconsciously started to tap the fingers of one hand against the table and when I realised, I reached for my forgotten goblet of pumpkin juice in an attempt to hide my nervousness. I felt Ginny's eyes on me and stole a glance in her direction. Her eyebrows had risen slightly and she had a rather perplexed look on her face. It was Ron, however, who verbally responded to me.

"Hermione, I thought you of all people would at least get a _bit_ of satisfaction out of this after the way she's been treating you recently," he tried to reason, as if I should be rejoicing in Parkinson's current predicament too – whatever it may be. My ginger-haired friend rested his elbows on the table and leaned towards me, ever so slightly. "Come on," he coaxed. "Imagine someone hexed her, wouldn't that be–"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ron, grow up!"

I had exploded at him before I even realised I was angry. It was like a veil of hot fury had suddenly shrouded my entire body; like there was something inside me clawing to get out. Whatever the feeling was, it left as quickly as it came and because of my outburst I was now being stared at by half the occupants of the Great Hall.

I felt a blush sweep across my cheeks and I wasn't the only one. Judging by Ron's pathetic facial expression, anyone would have thought I had just slapped him. His demeanour changed quickly, though, and it became clear that he was very annoyed. Or perhaps embarrassed.

"Ron, I'm sorry… I…" I tried to apologise but he was having none of it. He turned his head away from me and reached for some chicken. I looked around at the others and they all had looks of shock, surprise and – in Neville's case – fear on their faces.

The silence between us was deafening and you could cut the tension with a knife. If my appetite for lunch wasn't gone before, it certainly was now.

"I'm not hungry," I murmured, not looking at anyone directly. "I'll see you all later."

Without another word, I swung my legs off the bench and walked as fast as I could out of the Great Hall, breaking into a run as soon as I was out the door.

And I kept running. I had no idea where I was going; I just let my legs carry me anywhere. I got a few strange looks from straggling students as I ran along the ancient corridors, but I didn't care. "Good Heavens, Miss Granger!" I heard Nearly Headless Nick exclaim as I all but ran right through him. Faster and faster my feet thumped along the ground until I somehow made it to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I pushed open the rotting, wooden door, knowing that I at least wouldn't be disturbed in the abandoned, disused girls' toilet.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, vaguely aware of Myrtle howling in her U-bend, and whispered to no-one, "What is wrong with me?"

* * *

The Quidditch Cup was, as always, a hot topic of conversation amongst a large percentage of the student body and, as always, I couldn't care less about it. Nevertheless, I felt I needed to make amends for my outburst at Ron so I had offered to come and watch the Gryffindor team practice for their next match against Slytherin. Harry seemed overjoyed at my offer while Ron merely grunted in my general direction. I took that to mean 'apology accepted' in Ron language.

After dinner (still minus Parkinson) I was sitting in the stands, along with a select number of Harry Potter's ever present fan club, watching the training session. After warming up, Harry decided they needed to focus on teamwork, making everyone switch to an alien position within the team in an attempt to make them appreciate each other's contribution. The only person who seemed particularly put out by this was Katie Bell, who was furious that Harry had made her Keeper for the evening.

"Why can't you just leave Ron at the hoops? He doesn't have to play alongside any other members of the team!" She argued, hovering in mid-air beside Harry and Ginny. "He doesn't need to appreciate anyone else! All he has to do is save the Quaffle. Or _try_ to, I should say," she corrected herself, loudly and deliberately.

It was no secret that Katie thought Ron only got on the team because Harry was his best friend and she reminded everyone of that fact at every opportunity. I have to admit, she had a point. Cormac McLaggen was probably the better choice for Keeper but Harry disagreed.

I didn't hear Harry's response to her as he was a lot more discreet, but his body language was enough to tell me that he was trying to be diplomatic. Whatever he said seemed to placate her one way or another and she simply huffed and flew over to the hoops. Harry, looking relieved, sped off in the opposite direction towards the rest of the team. Ginny, on the other hand, eyed me for a moment before slowly flying down towards where I was sitting. She landed two rows down from me and walked up, eventually planting herself beside me.

"Aren't you needed elsewhere?" I asked, surprised that she was there, but with a smile none the less. The red-head smiled in return but it seemed forced.

"I think Harry has his hands full for a minute or two," she answered, inclining her head towards the Gryffindor Captain, who was trying to intervene in an argument between Demelza Robins and Jimmy Peakes. I couldn't help but laugh softly.

"What possessed him to make you all switch your positions?" I questioned. "I'm all for teamwork, but this is just stupid," I finished, smiling and turning my head towards Ginny, who giggled at my statement.

"You don't have to tell me that. It's entertaining to watch the carnage though."

There soon came an awkward silence between us and I'm not sure why. Ginny and I always got along well. We had sat in peaceful silence the last few nights doing homework and it seemed odd that it suddenly felt awkward now. Ginny rested her broom against her leg and toyed with a loose thread on her Quidditch robes.

"Hermione, where were you last night?" She blurted out, without preamble, looking straight out in front of her. Shocked at her bluntness, I swung my head round in her direction and answered defensively.

"I was doing my prefect duties," I replied automatically, as if answering a teacher. I soon felt a strange jolt of anger towards Ginny, though, which had never happened before. She was asking me about my whereabouts when she was having her own secret, late night rendez-vous with… Harry? At this stage all I had to go on was Parkinson's word and that wasn't something I could rely on. It was also something I told myself I wasn't going to pursue. I wanted to believe that Parkinson had fed false information to me; like some sort of covert operation. But a more rational and logical part of my mind knew she was right and I just didn't want to admit that she knew more about my friends' current activities than I did. But since Ginny had brought it up…

"After that, I mean," Ginny clarified, turning to look at me. Our eyes met and I saw worry, anxiety and something I couldn't quite identify in her eyes. She must have seen me sleeping in the common room last night, that's the only reason why she would ask. As selfish as it sounds, my own thoughts and feelings were centre stage and I took that opportunity to express my own concerns.

"The only way you would know I was out after hours is if you were too. So where were _you_?" I asked. I didn't mean to sound accusing but I think I must have been, judging by the change in her composure. She looked momentarily frazzled and attempted to look affronted before dropping her shoulders, apparently exhausted with whatever was on her mind.

Ginny shifted and turned her whole body towards mine. "Hermione, I–"

"OI!"

Ron's loud, obnoxious voice cut off his sister, resonating through the quiet, evening sky around us. "You're meant to be training, not talking!" He barked out, with a scowl on his face.

About as subtle as a Hippogriff at a funeral, Ron had managed to annoy two people with the smallest of sentences. I audibly huffed at the intrusion and Ginny's previously apprehensive countenance was suddenly replaced by pure Weasley fury, directed solely at her brother. A few choice expletives escaped Ginny and she snatched up her broom, taking off at top speed. A powerful gust of wind swirled around me in her wake, making me shiver.

I watched as brother and sister screamed and roared at one another, inches from each other's faces. Only when Ginny reached across and grabbed Ron by the front of his robes did Harry break them up. Ron was instantly told to return to the hoops, swapping positions be damned, and commanded to stay there until practice was over, while Ginny was tossed a Beater's bat and warned not to even look at her brother again.

If I were Harry, I would have been seriously questioning my ability to improve 'teamwork' at this point.

The evening wore on regardless and Ginny could be seen occasionally glancing back at Ron, eyeing him with contempt. As the sun set along the horizon, dark, elongated shadows caught my attention as they were cast across the immense pitch. I couldn't help the smile that pulled at my lips when I thought of all the things that had distracted me over the years from appreciating just how beautiful Hogwarts could be.

An almost blissful feeling of calm came over me and I glanced out over the lake just as the giant squid momentarily surfaced to catch the last tendrils of sunlight.

"HERMIONE, LOOK OUT!"

Ginny's urgent, frantic voice shattered my self-created, Zen-like state and I whipped my head round just in time to see horrified faces and a Bludger hurtling straight at me before everything went black.

* * *

The first thing I became aware of was a dull ache in my wrist.

The more I came to, the more I became aware of a horrendous pain in my left temple.

I could hear bustling sounds – sounds of someone walking around quickly. Glass bottles clinked and I heard something metallic fall to the floor. Judging from the clean, anti-septic scent that surrounded me, I was fairly certain I was in the hospital wing, although I couldn't be sure without opening my eyes. I shifted where I lay but all that did was aggravate the pain in both my wrist and my head. I let out a groan and that must have drawn the attention of Madam Pomfrey.

"Miss Granger," she said loudly, coming closer to me. "Miss Granger, can you hear me?"

I could hear her loud and clear; replying to her was the problem. I cleared my throat as best I could and eventually managed to respond in a raspy voice, "Yeah. Yeah, I can hear you."

"Can you open your eyes for me?" The medi-witch asked again, just as loudly, and I could tell she was now standing over me. With all the determination I could muster, I finally prized my eyes open and instantly regretted it. The pain in my head seemed to double as the harsh brightness in the room assaulted my retinas and I groaned, squinting.

"Here, drink this. It will help." Pomfrey placed a vial of something disgusting looking on the cabinet beside the bed, but I made no attempt to lift it.

"What happened?" I asked instead, trying to sit up straighter. Another mistake. Any movement I made just seemed to exacerbate the agony.

"Hmph!" Came the huffed response, almost instantly. "Quidditch! That's what happened!" Pomfrey shrieked, indignantly, as she moved away from me to gather her notes. "_Ridiculous_ game if you ask me."

It all started coming back to me at the mention of Quidditch. "Training," I muttered to myself, gradually remembering the commotion of the practice session. "Where is–"

"If you're about to inquire as to the whereabouts of either of the Weasleys, they were sent back to their common room," Pomfrey interrupted, harshly, clearly anticipating my question. "I will not have raucous behaviour in my hospital wing!"

I audibly sighed and closed my eyes, imagining the brawl that must have taken place while I was unconscious. I was fairly certain it was Ginny who had accidently hit the Bludger at me and I was also fairly certain that Ron was trying to make out that she had done it on purpose.

"Mr. Potter was also here. I told him to come back tomorrow." Pomfrey's voice sounded slightly more sympathetic this time, as if she was trying to make me feel better but not quite sure how. Hastily, she busied herself arranging the papers she had just retrieved and poised her quill to take notes. "How are you feeling?"

Her question somehow made my pain feel worse. "Sore wrist," I mumbled. "And my head…"

"Yes, I'm afraid your head will be sore for a day or two. Your wrist should be fine by morning," Pomfrey informed me, pursing her lips slightly as she scribbled something down. "Other than that you are in good health? No illness, aches, pains?" She asked, idly.

For a moment I wondered if I should bother telling her about my sudden, inexplicable attack of nausea last night. After all, it was probably just something I ate. Nevertheless, I decided to tell her. "Well, I felt a bit sick yesterday but–"

"Sick?" She interrupted, her head snapping up to look at me. Her eyes darted to the side briefly, before focusing on me once again. "Nausea? Fatigue? Dizziness?"

I frowned. "Um, yeah, actually. Although, I'm pretty sure it was–"

"Stress! STRESS!" She shrieked, springing to her feet. "Two in the same day!" She bustled over to her desk, dropping her papers down with a dull thud, muttering to herself. I couldn't catch everything the medi-witch was saying, just partial phrases here and there. "Slytherin girl this morning… refused to stay and recuperate... Professor Snape to sign her out…"

"Parkinson," I realised out loud, my stomach clenching with anxiety. So Dean had been informed correctly; she really had been in the hospital wing. But it didn't sound like it had anything to do with the hex I hit her with…

At my mention of Parkinson's name, Madam Pomfrey's head swung round and she gave me a severe and somewhat surprised look. I could understand her reaction. Why on earth would I know anything about a Slytherin who had been there only a few hours ago?

"But you, Miss Granger, are going _nowhere_!" She declared, apparently choosing not to comment on my slip-up. "Not until I'm satisfied that you are better. And drink that! It will make you feel better," she finished, gesturing towards the vial she had placed beside me, before hurrying away once more.

The way I was feeling I wasn't going to argue with her; I felt truly terrible. With great physical effort I reached over and clutched the potion with my good hand, massaging my temple with my fingertips for a moment before drinking it all down in one gulp. I couldn't help but grimace as the foul tasting liquid slid down my throat; it stung faintly and made me cough.

I lay back against the pillows and tried to get as comfortable as possible. I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes again there was a terrified, bug-eyed face peering down at me.

"Merlin!" I growled out, my voice sounding heavy with sleep. I jerked in surprise, causing a pain to shoot through my head and I squeezed my eyelids closed. My hand flew up to cradle my forehead and I audibly groaned. When I was finally able to open my eyes and focus my vision I saw that the person at my bedside was a very young Hufflepuff boy who seemed to be trembling from head to foot. "What time is it? Who are you? What do you want?" I barked out.

The only response I got was a quiet squeak before the boy seemed to panic. He flung a bit of small, carefully folded parchment at me and I simply stared at it as it lay on my blankets.

"What the–"

Scraping sounds from the other end of the ward interrupted me and it made the boy panic even more and bolt straight for the exit and out of sight, leaving me to gawp after him. I waited for Madam Pomfrey's tell-tale footsteps to come clacking towards me but they never did. She must have just stood up from her chair to get something and sat back down again.

_What just happened?_

It took me several seconds to get the idiotic look off my face and register the fact that the boy had given me a note. Although it was dark, there was enough light coming from Pomfrey's office for me to be able to read it. I unfolded the parchment and the message that was written in strikingly green ink made my heart rate pick up:

_**Perhaps you do have real friends after all. **_

_**But now you owe me one.**_


	5. Duelling Personalities

**Duelling Personalities**

"Please, sit down, you're making me dizzy," I pleaded, as Ginny's tall form paced back and forth at the foot of my bed. An achingly apologetic look crossed the red-head's face and she instantly sat down in the chair beside where I lay.

"Sorry," she said, eyebrows furrowing.

"And stop saying sorry," I implored, half laughing, half exasperated.

"…Sorry," she mumbled one more time, looking at the floor.

I sighed and leaned my head back against the pillows, closing my eyes. I was exhausted. I had spent the night skating the fine line between consciousness and sleep and had only really fallen asleep properly around dawn. I would love to say my monstrous headache was to blame, but in reality it had more to do with the note I received from Parkinson. On the one hand, I now knew that she was fine and I wasn't going to be getting into any trouble. But on the other hand, as she so candidly put it, I now owed her one and that didn't sit well with me.

Ginny had appeared at my bedside around eight-thirty that morning and Madam Pomfrey begrudgingly let her stay, warning her that she had fifteen minutes and not a second more. The youngest Weasley was anxious to see me before classes started but had spent most of her fifteen minute window of opportunity fumbling over an apology and pacing around my bed. Watching her was exhausting me even more.

"Ginny, it's fine, honestly," I tried, once again, to reassure her. "It's just a bump on the head. I'll be good as new in no time. It was just an accident."

My friend simply shook her head frantically. "No, Hermione, it's not fine," she replied, sounding like she was about to cry. "It was Ron's fault! He made me do it! I was aiming at his big fat head! If he hadn't moved…" She trailed off and looked at me pleadingly, as if begging me to understand something. A switch clicked in my mind and suddenly I started to realise why she was so upset. It wasn't an accident; she had meant to hurt someone. That person wasn't me, but she still meant to hurt someone. And now she was ashamed.

"Hey," I said softly, trying to get her attention. "Ginny, look at me." Sad eyes lifted and she finally met my gaze. Ginny's hazel eyes were shining with unshed tears and she looked so childlike in that moment; so much like that sensitive eleven year old I first met years ago. "They'll hardly throw you in Azkaban for losing your temper. Merlin knows, you're not the only Weasley with a short fuse." That made her smile, probably because she knew I was right.

"But I lost control, Hermione," she countered, her face sobering again. "I _hurt_ you. And if that Bludger had hit Ron I could have _killed_ him." Ginny dropped her head and her voice lowered considerably. "And all because Harry is a coward…" She trailed off and I sensed this was my opportunity to get some answers; to find out whether Parkinson really did know more about what was going on than I did.

"Are you two seeing each other?"

Ginny didn't seem startled or surprised by my straight-up question, as if she was expecting it. She lifted her head and met my gaze and sighed, before replying, "I don't know what we're doing anymore." She ran her hands through her flaming red hair before falling back against her chair, letting out a long breath. "How long have you known?"

_Oh, only since Pansy Parkinson basically spelt it out for me two nights ago_…

"Not long," I chose to answer with, starting to feel a bit upset. "I don't understand why you didn't just tell me."

"I wanted to!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping to her feet again and marching around the bed. "You have no idea how many times I was ready to explode; how much I wanted to just shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower." As if only just noticing that she had stood up, she walked back to the chair and fell into it again. "Harry made me promise not to tell anyone until he could tell Ron, but he keeps coming up with excuses not to tell him," the red-head finished, sounding irritated.

"Ron will be furious," I blurted out, without really thinking about it. Ginny frowned at me and I quickly explained my statement. "Not because you and Harry are together, but because you lied to him. Both of you did."

"I know," she agreed, her frown falling away. "Try telling Harry that. I can't take it anymore, Hermione, I really can't." My friend sounded so lost and I didn't know how to help her. When it came to romantic relationships I was virtually clueless. All I could do was ask questions and hope that talking about it would make her feel a bit better.

"Is that where you have been sneaking out to after hours? With Harry?"

"Well," Ginny paused for a second, obviously trying to gather her thoughts. "Most of the time, yes. The last few times I've been on my own, though. I just needed some space," she gave me a small smile. "You know as well as I do those dormitories get a bit crowded at times."

I grinned back at her. "You should be careful when you're out at night. A prefect might catch you."

A loud and exaggerated cough interrupted us and we both glanced across the ward to see Madam Pomfrey looking pointedly at Ginny, her eyebrow raised.

"I think that's my cue to leave," Ginny noted, a slight smirk on her face. "Feel better, 'Mione. And I really am sorry," she finished, unable to leave without one more apology. I waved her off but shouted after her when I remembered something.

"Oh, tell someone to bring my homework, would you? I know you won't ask the boys, but Parvati or Neville maybe."

"Homework? You _cannot_ be serious!" Ginny exclaimed, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline in surprise. I merely gave her a pointed look, as if to say 'remember who you're talking to.' "Fine," she conceded, raising her hands in silent surrender. "You'll get your homework."

With one more smile my friend disappeared from sight, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the remnants of my headache. In the tangled web of questions and mysteries going on right now, at least I had some answers about Ginny.

* * *

Despite my complaining, it was another two days before Pomfrey let me leave the hospital wing. Fortunately, Ginny fulfilled her promise and got Neville to deliver as much homework as he could, meaning that I was near enough up to date in all of my classes. The last thing I needed right now was to fall behind academically.

I was released early enough in the morning to have breakfast in the Great Hall, much to my delight. Even though it all came from the same kitchen, the food never tasted the same when you ate it in the hospital wing. I had a substantial and enjoyable breakfast for the first time in days. Whatever was causing my nausea seemed to have passed. Maybe Pomfrey was right; maybe it was just stress.

As I was sitting with Harry, Ron and all the usual suspects, I couldn't help gazing over to the Slytherin table every few minutes. Parkinson was sitting between Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass but she wasn't engaged in any conversation. She seemed to be toying absentmindedly with whatever food she had on her plate. Every time I stole a glance in her direction I could have sworn she had been intermittently staring at me too, but we never caught each other's line of sight.

As I was walking to Potions class with Ron and Harry, I was still thinking of Parkinson and it was probably for that reason that she was the first person I saw as I entered the dungeon classroom. She was sitting in her usual spot but seemed to be staring off into space. The disturbance of me entering the room apparently jolted her from her thoughts and she looked up, our eyes meeting for the briefest of moments before she looked away again. There was no smirk on her face; no smug, arrogant, patronising gleam in her eye. She just looked at me as if I was another faceless Hogwarts student.

Something was wrong; something inside me felt wrong.

Normally if Parkinson had taken it upon herself to ignore me I would have been overjoyed but after everything that had happened recently, it felt disconcerting. She had admitted that our little back and forth had been fun for her so the fact that she was now completely blanking me didn't make any sense – especially since I 'owed her one.' Surely she should have been milking it.

I remember nothing about that Potions class, or the Arithmancy and Charms classes which followed. The only thing I seemed to be able to focus on was what was going through Parkinson's mind. Theory after theory swirled through my head, each more unlikely than the last. Even when I wasn't around her, she was all I could think about. For whatever reason, she seemed to be doing everything in her power to pretend I didn't exist.

_Well, if she is going to ignore me, then I am going to ignore her_.

That is what I had decided. As petulant as it sounded, that is what I was saying to myself over and over again inside my head. After all, she was a Slytherin. Other than the odd class together it should be easy enough for us to avoid each other.

However, as if proving itself to be a taunting demon, fate had other ideas.

"May I have your attention, please!" Professor McGonagall commanded from the staff table in the Great Hall, halfway through lunch that same day. The buzz of chatter instantly faded and a sea of curious faces turned towards the Deputy Head Mistress. "Just a quick reminder for all sixth and seventh year students." My attention was peaked. "The Duelling Club commences this evening for Gryffindor and Slytherin students; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff will start tomorrow evening. These sessions are _mandatory_ for all students. No excuses! That is all."

McGonagall sat herself back down and the students slowly got back to their conversations. I, however, continued to stare at her, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Duelling Club? What is she talking about?" I asked everyone in the general vicinity. Ron and Harry both froze, matching looks of realisation and fear spreading across their faces.

"Oops," Ron murmured, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"_Oops_?" I repeated, scathingly. "You knew and you didn't tell me? How could you not tell me?" I was in disbelief that nobody felt the need to tell me about something like this. I turned my attention to Harry rather than Ron, thinking I would get a better answer from him.

"Sorry, Hermione," he began. "But, to be fair, we only found out yesterday and it was after we'd been to visit you and… you know… sorry…" Harry's ramble ended with him ducking his head in apology and all I could do was sigh and give him a stern look.

"Why is there suddenly a Duelling Club anyway?" I inquired, inclining my head towards Neville and Seamus. I couldn't help but cast my mind back to my second year when we were subjected to an absolutely absurd Duelling Club experience at the hands of Gilderoy Lockhart. There was certainly no need for it then and I really couldn't see the point of it now, either.

Seamus merely shrugged, but Neville replied in a small voice. "Maybe Dumbledore wants to prepare us."

There was a silent pause before everyone went back to eating their lunch. Nobody needed to ask the question: _prepare us for what? _We all knew what Neville meant and it wasn't something any of us wanted to discuss. Or even think about. Harry, Ron and myself exchanged glances before we, too, went back to eating our lunch.

* * *

"It's good to see you back, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall declared as we entered the Great Hall that evening. "I trust you are feeling better?" She questioned, surveying me over her spectacles.

"I am, Professor, thank you," I answered politely, with a small smile. McGonagall simply stared at me for a moment before giving me a curt nod and moving further into the Hall.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins had, predictably, congregated on opposite sides of the immense Hall, which was now empty apart from a long, raised platform that stretched the length of the room. Professors McGonagall, Snape, Slughorn and Flitwick stood conversing where the staff table was usually situated, glancing up as every new group of students came through the doors. Impatient Gryffindors were already fidgeting with their wands and pacing around, anxious to start. Several school ghosts appeared overhead, obviously anticipating an evening of entertainment. Even Nearly Headless Nick could be seen hovering off to the side, looking as regal and proper as ever.

The longer I stood there waiting, the more I felt a familiar wave of nausea wash over me. _You're just nervous; try to calm down_, I told myself over and over again, like a mantra. I suppose I _was_ nervous, but I knew deep down that it wasn't the reason for me feeling unwell. The power of denial, however, is a frightening thing.

I glanced across the room at the Slytherins and, inexplicably, my gaze instantly fell upon Parkinson without me having to look for her. She was standing silently next to Malfoy, twirling her wand absentmindedly between her fingers. Both of them looked somewhat distracted and seemed to be deliberately standing away from their peers; not far enough to look odd, but far enough that it was clear they didn't want to be engaged in conversation. As if feeling my eyes on her, Parkinson suddenly looked straight at me and even from across the room I could feel the intensity of her stare. Her mouth formed a tight line before she simply looked away again and went back to toying with her wand.

"Are you alright?" Harry's voice sounded from beside me, making me jump. "You look a bit pale."

"Yes, I'm fine," I replied, rather more sharply than I intended. I was saved any further questioning as Professor McGonagall finally decided to start proceedings. With her arms raised, the Deputy Headmistress called for silence.

"Thank you all for coming. I'm sure many of you are wondering why you have been called here this evening," McGonagall began, governing affirmative murmurs from the students in front of her. "Rest assured, the Headmaster merely wishes to provide you all with as much education as possible before you leave here."

A number of students – from both Houses – frowned. Of all the personality traits Professor McGonagall possessed, being vague was not one of them. As far as we knew, Dumbledore had never insisted upon this type of extra-curricular 'education' for senior students before, so why now? Harry, Ron and I exchanged glances and it seemed that the Hall had become eerily quiet. It seemed like we really were being prepared for something…

"Now!" Professor Flitwick squeaked out, clapping his hands together and effectively slicing through the silence. "First, you will all split into pairs or groups and practice offensive and defensive spells while we travel amongst you, correcting wand movements, pronunciation and the like," the Charms teacher informed us, gesturing to the other teachers before looking over to the raised platform that separated the room. "Then, pairs of students will be chosen to duel on the platform in front of everyone, where your skills will really be put to the test." Flitwick beamed at all of us. "Any questions?" He asked, brightly.

Nobody raised their hand to ask a question; we were all too busy staring at the tiny man, trying to process all the information he had just given us.

"In that case, all that remains is for me to issue a number of rules," Flitwick announced, his face sobering somewhat. "It goes without saying that the use of any Unforgivable Curses will earn you a one way ticket to Azkaban." His eyes darted ever so fleetingly towards the Slytherins. "In addition, there will be no dark magic of any kind, no physical altercations and no Legilimency."

"_Legilimency?!_" Ron breathed out, soundly dumbfounded. "I'll be lucky if I can disarm someone!"

It did seem ridiculous that we were being warned against using spells that, in reality, the majority of us wouldn't even know the incantations for, never mind be able to cast properly. The type of magic we were being told not to use was incredibly advanced (not to mention illegal, in the case of the Unforgivable Curses) and wasn't even taught at the school. I'm not sure what they expected from us but they were grossly overestimating our abilities.

There was a strange atmosphere in the Great Hall as we all began to split off into small groups. Some cliques of friends stuck together, while some preferred to practice with just one other person. Neville seemed to think he was safer on his own and yet still managed to rip a candelabra off the wall and send it soaring towards Dean Thomas. Ron tried several times to disarm me but couldn't quite manage it and Harry spent more time watching Malfoy from across the room than he did practicing.

Harry had become obsessed with Malfoy over the last couple of months, claiming he had become a Death Eater over the summer holidays. Ron and I both found it hard to believe. After all, what use would an underage wizard be to Voldemort? Nothing either of us said did anything to quell Harry's obsessive curiosity, though.

About thirty minutes passed, with the teachers weaving through the crowds of students giving hints and correcting wrist movements. Professor McGonagall seemed to be spending a disproportionate amount of time with the Gryffindors, although that was hardly surprising, and Snape was doing the same with the Slytherins. Before Professor Flitwick called for quiet and order once again, Ron finally managed to disarm me when I momentarily glanced over at Parkinson and I couldn't help but smile at his triumphant fist pump.

"Let's begin with Mr. Longbottom, shall we?" Flitwick asked rhetorically, eyeing Neville expectantly, while several Slytherins sniggered. Poor Neville visibly gulped before clambering onto the platform, awaiting his partner. "And Miss Bullstrode."

Oh dear; this would only go one way. Millicent Bulstrode was smirking as she, too, made her way onto the platform. Neville's eyes had gone as wide as saucers and he had started to tremble slightly. His opponent stood about a head taller than him and she was nearly twice as wide. I was overcome with a feeling of sympathy for him, as my mind drifted back to our second year Duelling Club experience when Bulstrode had abandoned her wand in favour of putting me in a head lock. She had definitely grown into a frightening young woman.

"Bow," McGonagall commanded and both students complied. She then waved her wand, forming an invisible, protective barrier between the two duellers and the rest of the students. "Begin."

"_Rictusempra!_" Bulstrode shouted almost instantly, her spell hitting Neville square in the chest. The Gryffindor stumbled backwards and started squirming and contorting uncontrollably as the sensation of being tickled overcame him. The Hall erupted in laughter; even some of his fellow Housemates couldn't help themselves. Neville tried to retaliate but he just couldn't.

"_Tarantallegra!_" The Slytherin barked out again, her spell causing Neville to dance uncontrollably at the other side of the podium. The guffaws of laughter got even louder and it was clear that Bulstrode was playing with him, like a cat plays with a mouse.

"Miss Bulstrode!" A voice boomed out, and I was surprised to see it was Snape who had spoken. He raised a warning eyebrow at her and she looked aggrieved that her Head of House was spoiling her fun.

Millicent sighed and dropped her shoulders in acceptance that she had to put an end to her torture. "_Expelliarmus!_" She directed towards Neville and his wand flew through the air, into her own hand.

"Thank you, Miss Bulstrode," Professor McGonagall acknowledged, in a venomous voice. "Perhaps next time you can keep the childish hexes to a minimum?" The Slytherin made no reply, instead choosing to fling Neville's wand into the middle of the long, thin platform with a smirk, before heavily getting down onto the ground.

Pair after pair of students took to the platform, their duels rarely lasting more than a couple of minutes. Seamus made short work of Goyle (who tripped over his own shoe laces), Tracey Davis took down Lavender Brown within thirty seconds and Ron managed to disarm Blaise Zabini – although he made hard work of it.

When Malfoy was called up against Cormac McLaggen, I felt Harry immediately tense up beside me and he seemed to tighten his grip on his wand. Harry wasn't the only one who seemed more interested in this duel than any of the others. It was as if all the Gryffindors were just waiting for Malfoy to perform the Killing Curse right there in the middle of the Great Hall. It, however, turned out to be one of the more boring duels of the evening. A well timed _Stupefy_ hex had McLaggen on his rear-end just as he had straightened up from bowing.

"Well, that was a bit of an anti-climax," Ron whispered, stating the obvious. If Harry heard him he didn't show it. He just continued to stare at Malfoy as he made his way back to the other Slytherins. Ron and I exchanged worried glances and I was distracted enough that it startled me when I heard my own name.

"Miss Granger and Miss Greengrass, if you please," McGonagall said, nodding towards the platform. _Daphne Greengrass? This should be easy enough…_

We both made our way up onto the podium and the Slytherin was trying valiantly not to look nervous. As much I hated to admit it, a part of me loved that I could have that kind of effect on someone.

"Pardon my intrusion, Professor," Slughorn's unmistakable voice sounded, addressing McGonagall. "But may I suggest Miss Parkinson as Miss Granger's opponent? I confess myself curious to see if they duel as well as they debate." The Potions Master had his thumbs tucked into his waist coat and a beaming smile on his face. "I daresay they will bring out the best in each other!"

As he stopped speaking, I realised my mouth was hanging open and I promptly snapped it shut again. _He can't be serious_, I thought to myself. My head whipped round in the direction of Parkinson and I saw her staring at Slughorn with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance, before she turned her gaze to me. Although her face gave nothing away, her eyes betrayed her true feelings – unmistakable apprehension.

"Professor, I think Daphne is more than–"

"Marvellous idea, Professor Slughorn." McGonagall interrupted Parkinson's protests and stared right at her, even though she wasn't speaking to her. "I, too, find myself curious," she finished, switching her piercing stare to me and raising a questioning eyebrow.

I felt a blush spread across my cheeks and I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to look at my Head of House any longer.

"_Hermione!_" I heard Ron hiss from somewhere beside me. I looked down at him and his mouth was opening and closing, like he wanted to say something but nothing was coming out. _What was there to say?_

The sound of Greengrass gratefully scurrying down from the platform drew my attention back to the problem at hand and I refocused my gaze on Parkinson, who had gone back to glaring at Slughorn.

"Miss Parkinson, if you'd be so kind," McGonagall commanded sternly, gesturing towards where I stood, leaving no room for negotiation. Parkinson squared her shoulders and began calmly walking through the crowd of Slytherins, up onto the platform.

By this stage, there were excited whispers and murmurs from all around the room, especially from the Gryffindors who had already been up in arms about the Potions class debacle between Parkinson and I a few days prior. All I seemed to be able to focus on though were Parkinson's eyes, which were blazing ten feet away from me, as we stood facing one another. I unconsciously started to tap my wand against the outside of my leg in nervousness.

This was the first time we had had any direct contact since the night I left her frozen on the floor of that classroom. It was no surprise that she looked more than slightly annoyed to be standing opposite me – especially when I was expected to try and hex her again.

"Bow," McGonagall reminded the two of us, as we simply stared at each other. I stole a glance towards the teachers and every one of them seemed to be more alert than they had been for every other duel that evening. Slowly I bent at the waist, never taking my eyes off Parkinson, and she did the same.

"Any time you're ready, ladies," McGonagall spoke yet again, beginning to sound mildly irritated, as we both continued to just stand there. I could hear the vague undertones of students around me but it was like white noise; just static.

In her first public display of emotion since getting onto the platform, Parkinson raised an eyebrow at me and threw both hands out either side of her, implying I had a free shot.

"_Stupefy!_" I shouted, pointing my wand at her, taking my chance. Displaying lightning fast reflexes, Parkinson sunk down onto her haunches, as I watched my spell soar over her head and disappear into the magical barrier McGonagall had erected around us.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" The Slytherin yelled in retaliation, as she simultaneously rose into an upright position once more. _How very appropriate she should use that hex._

"_Protego!_" I defended, swirling my wand through the air and creating a protective shield, sending her spell back at her.

For a split second I saw Parkinson's face fall, before she set her jaw and steadied her stance. What happened next left everyone in the room speechless. She raised one hand in the air and with a sharp flick of the wand in her other hand, the white stream of light carrying the hex vanished right in front of her with a loud _crack!_

Without her uttering a single incantation.

My arms fell limply by my sides and I stood gawking at her. _How did she do that?_ I wasn't even sure _what_ she had done but I knew it was extremely advanced. Non-verbal magic simply wasn't the norm at Hogwarts. Not amongst the students, at least. Looking over towards the teachers I saw that all four of them were on their feet, staring at Parkinson in bewilderment. Parkinson herself had her gaze locked on me and she looked almost timid, like a child who had done something wrong. As always with the Slytherin, though, any display of genuine emotion was quickly replaced with malice and this was no exception.

Parkinson's facial features morphed into pure contempt and before I knew it, she had fired another spell straight at me. "_CONFRINGO!_"

The implications of that curse were enough to make me dive out of the way; catching fire was not something I wanted to experience.

"Ladies, I think that's enough for–"

"_INCARCEROUS!_" I shrieked, getting to my feet and ignoring Professor McGonagall, as she tried to put an end to our duel.

"_FURNUNCULUS!_"

"Enough!" McGonagall roared, sending a spell in our direction which caused us both to stumble backwards.

My heart was racing and my breathing was heavy. One look at Parkinson told me that she was feeling something similar.

"Wait for me in my office, both of you," the Deputy Headmistress instructed. "Now!" She added loudly, when neither of us made a move. With one last poisonous look at me, Parkinson relented and marched down from the podium, aggressively pushing her way through the crowd of students. Malfoy grabbed hold of her upper arm as she moved past him but she wrestled out of his grip without looking at him, making her way through the large, oak doors and out of sight.

I peered down at Ron and Harry and both were staring at me, mouths open. I scanned the rest of the crowd and they, too, were looking at me in bewilderment. Chancing a glance towards the teachers I saw them all looking at me in much the same way as the students were – as if I was to blame for what had just happened.

"My office, Miss Granger," McGonagall reiterated, more calmly. "Now."


	6. Ghostly Interventions

**Ghostly Interventions**

The pounding in my ears matched the pounding of my feet against the cold, hard floor as I stormed up the steps to Professor McGonagall's office. I couldn't believe I had been sent to the Deputy Headmistress' office for something that wasn't even my fault. And all because of Parkinson. Just like everything else going on right now; it was all because of _Parkinson_.

That girl was beginning to give me a constant headache.

The door to McGonagall's office creaked in protest as I pushed it open, revealing the Slytherin standing at the window with her back to me and her hands resting on the ledge. I made a scene of shutting the door loudly behind me, thinking it would make her turn and face me. It did not. She simply continued to gaze out over the dimly lit school grounds.

I felt rooted to the spot as I stood there next to the door. My initial feelings of anger were momentarily curbed as I stared at Parkinson. It seemed as if she was deep in thought and unaware of anything going on around her. Finally moving, she turned her head to the side, although she didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular. The way the moonlight shone through the window upon her face accentuated her sharp lines and features and made her look almost aristocratic.

"Nicely done, Granger," she finally said, snidely, breaking the silence between us. My eyebrows rose in surprise and then knitted together in confusion.

"Excuse me?" I asked, sounding slightly irritated.

Parkinson swung her entire body round, facing me for the first time since I had entered the room. Her expression seemed to be a mixture of annoyance, disbelief and exhaustion. "If you had just let that first spell hit you, we both could've just gone on with our lives," she said in a raised voice, taking a few steps towards me. "But, no, you had to be all _Gryffindor_ about it and now I'm _here_," she finished, gesturing flippantly around her.

I looked at her incredulously. _Is she honestly trying to blame me for this?_ "Why the _hell_ should I have just let you win the duel?" I spat back at her, my face contorting.

Coming closer still, Parkinson tilted her head to the side. "In case you've forgotten, you owe me one," she announced slowly and deliberately. "And we could have been even again if you had just used your head; a hex for a hex. The _same_ hex."

I couldn't help the look of astonishment that swept across my face when she finished speaking. _It would really have been that easy to be on equal terms again?_ I found that very hard to believe; Parkinson was a Slytherin, after all. Looking at her, though, I saw nothing but sincerity and honesty in the way she was behaving. In fact, she seemed quite annoyed that I hadn't caught on to the plan she had inside her own head to get me off the hook.

My silence seemed to annoy her even more, as I simply stood and stared at her. A short, humourless laugh erupted from her and she shook her head at me, looking almost disappointed. "You know what? I take back what I said before. You really _are_ stupid."

Fury rippled through me, almost making my skin prickle. In this particular instance, out of the two of us, Parkinson was the one who was being stupid; not to mention arrogant and sanctimonious. I clenched my fists by my side and marched straight up to the Slytherin, leaving barely an inch between us. Surprise was clearly etched on her features as we stood there, toe to toe, and I saw her eyes roving and darting all over my face.

"So, what, this is all _my_ fault? Are you _serious_?" I barked out, my face far too close to hers. "You're the one who was up there flaunting your non-verbal magic and trying to set me on _fire_!" My voice was getting louder and shriller by the second, my emotions out of control. "It's _your_ fault we're here!" I finished, pointing my finger right in her face.

I saw the muscles in Parkinson's jaw ripple and she narrowed her eyes at me. I was fully expecting her to explode in a fit of rage, hit me, scream profanities… but she did nothing of the sort. After an exasperated exhale, the Slytherin's shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes, before turning and walking away from me. She fell heavily into one of the single-seat, leather chairs in front of McGonagall's desk and pinched the bridge of her nose, absentmindedly mumbling something about 'not having the energy for this.'

"I didn't mean to do any of that," she finally said to me in a quiet voice, without looking in my direction. It took me a moment to remember what she was talking about. "I just… lost my temper." I stood with my mouth slightly open, baffled by her sudden change in mood. That was probably the closest thing to an apology anyone had ever got out of Parkinson, and I decided I would take it.

I watched as she slumped against the back of the chair and leaned heavily on one of the armrests, cradling her head in her hand. She looked incredibly tired and frustrated and, to be honest, she looked as bad as I felt. It seemed to be the only thing we had in common.

We descended into silence, the only noise coming from an ornate, antique looking clock that hung on the wall. There was a strange energy in the room and I was almost afraid to make a sound or any kind of sudden movement. My limbs felt like lead as I forced one foot in front of the other, lumbering towards the chair beside Parkinson. As I lowered myself gingerly into the soft leather, she didn't acknowledge my presence at all. She just continued to sit there with her eyes closed and her head resting on her hand.

"A-Are you alright?" I asked, tentatively. I'm not sure why I asked; it just felt like the right thing to do.

Parkinson's eyes opened slowly and she turned her head just enough to look at me. There was a look of wonder adorning her face and once again her gaze swept over me. She shook her head infinitesimally and turned away from me again.

"Shut up, Granger," she muttered, but not in a spiteful or harsh way, just in a way that told me our conversation was over. The two of us sat in a surprisingly tolerable silence for the next five minutes, waiting for Professor McGonagall to arrive.

When the Deputy Headmistress did sweep through the door of her office, Parkinson and I both sprang to our feet and turned to face her. Snape was standing just behind her and he had his usual scowl firmly in place.

"Well, this is a promising start," McGonagall said, eyeing us both suspiciously. "I was half expecting you both to be lying unconscious on my Persian rug," she finished in a clipped tone. I looked down at my shoes in shame and I felt Parkinson shift uncomfortably beside me. "Sit down, both of you," she commanded, as she made her way to her chair on the other side of the desk.

Snape closed the door behind them and loped across the room, standing to the side and slightly back from where McGonagall was sitting. I couldn't help but look at him as he stood there like an overgrown bat, but he seemed to be too fixated on Parkinson to notice. His cold eyes bore into her, alarmingly. I know I wouldn't have wanted him staring at me that way. I quickly stole a glance at the Slytherin beside me and she was staring at the wall, valiantly trying to pretend he wasn't there.

I didn't understand what was going on. I always thought Parkinson was his Golden Girl; she had even told me as much herself. If anything, he should have been proud of her for displaying that level of magic, but it seemed like the opposite was true.

"So," McGonagall began, sitting right back in her chair, governing everyone's attention. "Care to explain what is going on between the two of you?" She looked between Parkinson and I over her spectacles, her gaze steely.

"I don't know what you mean, Professor. We were simply duelling," Parkinson answered confidently, feigning ignorance. McGonagall leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk in front of her, lacing her fingers together. She frowned at the Slytherin for a moment before speaking again.

"Do you take me for a fool, Miss Parkinson?" She questioned point-blank, sounding genuinely interested to hear the answer. Parkinson seemed startled; it obviously wasn't the reply she was expecting.

"No, Professor," she assured McGonagall, shaking her head to further affirm her sentiments. "Of course not."

"Then, I ask you again," the Transfiguration teacher said more sternly, switching her stare solely to me. "What is going on?"

_What is going on?_ How was I supposed to answer that question when I didn't know the answer myself? The twisted, almost masochistic, relationship Parkinson and I had developed recently was getting stranger and more confusing by the day. Everything had happened so fast that I had lost all sense of perspective.

I cleared my throat and took a deep, calming breath before attempting to answer my Head of House. "It's nothing more than an argument that got out of hand, Professor," I explained, trying my best to look her in the eye. "Parkinson challenged me in Potions class a few days ago and… things just spiralled," I finished, rather lamely. If there was one person I found it nearly impossible to lie to, it was the woman before me and I was terrified she would be able to see right through me.

"Hmm, yes, I heard about that incident," McGonagall responded, her Scottish brogue coming through. "The two of you seem to be _excelling_ in Professor Slughorn's class." It was hard to tell but she almost sounded irritated by that fact. Drumming her fingers on the desk, it was a moment before she spoke again. "And there is nothing more to it than that? Miss Parkinson, do you wish to add anything?"

I saw Parkinson intertwine her fingers before she glanced towards me, our eyes meeting momentarily. _Is this it?_ I thought to myself. _Is this where she tells McGonagall about how I hexed her in that classroom and just left her there?_ _Is she going to try and spin some ridiculous tale that makes me look like the guilty party?_

"No, Professor," the Slytherin finally replied. "It was just a silly argument that got out of hand."

We were both lying. More importantly, we were lying to protect each other. A few weeks ago Parkinson would have happily thrown me under the bus, given half a chance, and vice versa. But not now. Something had changed between us; the dynamic of our acquaintanceship had completely shifted.

McGonagall finally leaned back in her chair again and turned to look briefly at Snape, who was being unusually quiet. "Ladies, I am unsure how to proceed," she confessed. "While your conduct this evening was _deplorable_, it was also undeniably impressive." It seemed hard for her to admit, if her set jaw and flaring nostrils were anything to go by. She paused for a moment before speaking again.

"Miss Parkinson, you in particular showed skills I haven't seen in a student for many years." McGonagall did little to hide the surprise and curiosity in her voice and raised a questioning eyebrow at the Slytherin.

In the six years I had known Pansy Parkinson I had witnessed many emotions in her; everything from smugness to cruelty was a regular occurrence. Two emotions I had never seen in her, however, were embarrassment and uncertainty, both of which I was seeing right now. A crimson blush spread across her cheeks when McGonagall stopped speaking and her gaze dropped to the floor. I turned my head and stared at her, unabashedly. She looked like a completely different person in that moment. So much younger; so much more relatable.

I watched as she glanced up under her eyelashes at Snape for the first time, who was already staring at her with beady eyes. It seemed like there was some sort of silent exchange going on between the two and I was starting to feel very uneasy.

"You will both serve two nights of detention, starting on Monday," McGonagall announced, either not noticing the exchange or choosing not to acknowledge it. Judging by the way she looked sideways at Snape, I'd say it was the latter. "Miss Granger, you will serve yours with Professor Slughorn," she said, eyeing me before lifting her quill and scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. "And you, Miss Parkinson…" McGonagall trailed off and paused for a moment, surveying the Slytherin over her glasses. "You will serve your detention with me."

Both Parkinson and I nodded our understanding and acceptance before the room descended into silence, save for the scratching sound of a quill on parchment. "Whatever petty squabbles have been going on, it ends now. Is that understood?" McGonagall said absentmindedly, not looking up from her incessant writing.

"Yes, Professor," we both answered, automatically.

"You may go." At hearing our dismissal, Parkinson jumped to her feet instantly and just as I had risen from my chair too, the Deputy Headmistress spoke again. "Not you, Miss Granger. I would like a word in private."

My movements immediately ceased, as did Parkinson's, and we instinctively looked at each other, slightly alarmed. I had already surprised myself by lying convincingly to my Head of House once that evening, I really didn't think I would be able to do it again if she continued to press me. Especially if it was just the two of us.

"Professor Snape will escort you back to your dormitory," McGonagall said, speaking directly to Parkinson, who seemed to blanch ever so slightly.

At the mention of his name, Snape strode forward and waited for Parkinson to move away from me, before placing his hand on her shoulder. His grip seemed tighter than it needed to be and I could have sworn I saw Parkinson wince as her Head of House steered her out of the office, slowly shutting the door behind them.

"There's no need to look so scared, Miss Granger, you're not on trial," McGonagall said reassuringly, drawing my attention away from the closed door. "I simply wish to know how you are."

Such a simple request, and yet it left me feeling uncertain and anxious. "Professor?" I replied, not knowing how else to respond.

The Deputy Headmistress exhaled audibly and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk in front of her. "A number of your teachers have approached me and expressed concern for you. You are still excelling, of course, but you seem..." She trailed off, lacing her long, elegant fingers together, "…_distracted_ in most of your classes. I, myself, have noticed a decline in your participation."

There was the faintest air of disappointment in my Transfiguration teacher's voice and it was that, above all else, that really got to me. Professor McGonagall was undoubtedly my favourite teacher and I respected and craved her opinions above all others. The fact that she had registered a change in me and seemed displeased with it left me feeling ashamed.

"In fact," she continued, not giving me a chance to respond. "The only one of your teachers who has no concerns is Professor Slughorn. Granted, he doesn't know you like the other Professors do, but it is still curious, is it not, that the only class you aren't distracted in is the one you share with Miss Parkinson?"

I frowned at the woman before me; I wasn't sure what she was getting at. "A-Am I in trouble, Professor?" I asked, sounding incredibly child-like. Much to my surprise, McGonagall's face softened and she tilted her head to the side, ever so slightly.

"No, Hermione, you are not in any trouble," she responded gently, her use of my first name not lost on me. "I am worried about you. Is there anything you need to talk to me about?"

There were many things I probably should have talked to her about: everything from lying to Filch to Parkinson blackmailing me…

"No, Professor," I said. "I admit I've been a bit distracted recently; I've been feeling unwell. But Madam Pomfrey said it was just stress and I'm feeling much better now." I sounded like I was rambling, disjointedly, even to my own ears. "There is nothing to worry about."

McGonagall simply looked at me for moment, obviously thinking something over in her head. "I know House rivalries are a part of life here at Hogwarts; friendly competition is often a good thing," she finally spoke again, seemingly ignoring what I had just said. "But if it becomes something more than that–"

"This isn't Parkinson's fault," I blurted out a bit too loudly and without conscious decision. My face instantly flushed when I saw McGonagall raise a curious eyebrow.

"I didn't say it was, Miss Granger," she replied, all the gentleness in her voice gone, returning to addressing me formally. Instantly I felt frazzled and my palms were sweating. I had never spoken to a teacher that way before, never mind the Deputy Headmistress, and I immediately regretted it.

"I-I just meant, this isn't about rivalries," I stuttered out. "It was just an argument."

McGonagall pushed off the desk and sat right back in her chair. She nudged her half-moon glasses further up her nose and sighed one last time, before speaking in an exasperated tone. "And that's the story you're sticking to, is it?" She asked, clearly not believing a word I said.

"It's not a story, Professor," I replied in a quiet voice, forcing myself to keep eye contact.

McGonagall broke our gaze and reached forward, lifting a stack of parchment off the table and beginning to sort through it. "You may go, Miss Granger," she stated, continuing to avoid looking at me, making it perfectly clear our conversation was finished. "Professor Slughorn will be expecting you on Monday evening."

Without another word I stood and rushed from the office, hating myself for lying to yet another person.

* * *

My head was throbbing and all I wanted to do was go to bed. Unfortunately, I knew the second I stepped through the portrait hole every Gryffindor would descend upon me, demanding to know what had happened. It was for that reason I was sitting alone, half way up a flight of cold, stone steps, not far from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom – I needed a few moments of calm. Once again, a day that started normally enough ended in complete chaos, all because Parkinson and I were forced into close proximity. I was starting to wish Madam Pomfrey had kept me in the hospital wing for one more day, just so I could have avoided this whole episode.

I rested my head against the rough wall and closed my eyes, trying to clear my mind, thinking it might help my headache. No such luck. The events of the evening replayed themselves behind my closed lids like a horrible nightmare you wish you could forget.

"You've had quite a night, my dear," a familiar, stately voice resonated around me, as if it was coming from everywhere. My eyes shot open and I stiffened in panic, thinking I was in even more trouble for lingering in the halls so late in the evening. Slowly, I turned my head to the side and jumped slightly when I saw Nearly Headless Nick appear from nowhere, smiling sincerely at me. After so many years, I still wasn't immune to the school ghosts.

"Sir Nicholas, you startled me," I said, clutching my chest, but feeling relieved.

I had always made sure to address the Gryffindor ghost as 'Sir Nicholas' any time I spoke to him directly. It was one thing to refer to him as 'Nearly Headless Nick' in passing, but it was only right to show him the respect and dignity he deserved when dealing with him one on one… even if he was dead.

"Forgive me," Nick replied, smiling. "We ghosts forget how frightening we can be when one isn't expecting us." He came closer to me, bringing with him a cold chill that seemed to seep right into my bones. "What has you sitting here alone, Miss Granger?"

Curbing my natural instincts to shudder at Nick's closeness, I took a deep breath, deciding I may as well talk to an impartial party before I faced the inhabitants of Gryffindor Tower. "Like you said, I've had quite a night," I answered blandly, curious as to how much interest the ghost had in this conversation. There was a moment's pause before Nick responded, drifting closer to me still.

"You duel well," he said, although it didn't sound like a compliment; more matter-of-fact. The only response he got from me was a wry smile so he continued, "But, I daresay, that is not what is on your mind."

"No, it's not," I muttered in response, looking down at my shoes.

"Ah, then it must be the lovely Miss Parkinson."

I swung my head round to face Nearly Headless Nick, ready to challenge him, when I remembered he had been there in the Hall and watched us all duel; all the ghosts had. He had seen the drama unfold first hand.

"_Lovely_ isn't a word I would use to describe her," I replied, almost petulantly. To my surprise, Nick actually chuckled.

"Yes, well," he began, staring off into the distance. "Perhaps not. The two of you have had an eventful few weeks, after all."

At that, I did feel the need to challenge him. "How… how do you–"

"You would be surprised by the things I know, Miss Granger," Nick interrupted my stammering, moving to replicate a sitting position on the stairs, although it was clear he was still simply hovering. "Especially when it comes to Gryffindors."

When I thought about it, it made sense that the school ghosts knew more than most about the goings on at Hogwarts. It was just something I had never thought about before. They could go where they wanted, when they wanted; they could even conceal themselves if needs be.

Suddenly, a thought struck me. There was something I wanted, no, _needed_ to know the answer to and the easiest way to get the information could potentially be from a ghost.

"May I ask you a question, Sir Nicholas?" I ventured, seeing him nod in response. "Did you see me a few nights ago in the classroom with Parkinson?"

Nick tilted his head, though not far enough for it to detach and flop over to the side. "I saw the aftermath, certainly," he said, curiosity clearly evident in his tone.

"Did you…" I began, before clearing my throat and steeling myself for any answer I may receive. "Did you see who revived Parkinson after I… after I left?"

A small smile appeared on the ghost's face and he shook his head, raising his hand in a placatory gesture. "There is no need to worry, Miss Granger," he said, reassuringly. "Your friend won't be getting into any trouble."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. _Who is he talking about? He couldn't be talking about Parkinson_. "My friend?" I queried, not understanding.

"Miss Weasley, of course!" He replied brightly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. At the mention of Ginny's name, my confusion morphed into bewilderment. What did she have to do with any of this?

"Ginny? What about her?" It was clear there was a serious lack of understanding on both sides of our conversation. Nick further confirmed this when he frowned at me and quickly looked away.

"Forgive me, I thought you knew," he said, sounding sorry.

"Knew _what_?" I demanded, speaking more harshly than I intended.

"That it was Miss Weasley who revived Miss Parkinson that night."

There was silence for a moment and I simply stared at Nick.

"I beg your pardon?" I responded, incredulously. "She couldn't… I mean she…" I was stuttering and stumbling over my words, unable to process what he had said. "You must be mistaken."

Another chuckle erupted from the ghost. "My dear, I have seen enough Weasleys and Prewetts come through the doors of this school to recognise one when I see one."

I felt slightly embarrassed when he answered me; nobody could confuse a Weasley with somebody else – especially someone like him who had come across so many. I just couldn't believe it. There were so many questions going through my head: What was Ginny doing there that night? And more importantly, why hadn't she spoken to me about it?

"But… How could…" I began again, mumbling unintelligibly. "Why would she do that?"

"Because I told her to," Nick answered, simply. I gaped at him and he smiled before speaking again. "Allow me to explain. I first came upon you speaking with Mr. Filch outside the classroom and after he led you away, I became curious." The ghost's somewhat flippant and summarised version of a night that was so horrendous for me annoyed me slightly, but I pushed past it and he continued.

"I drifted through the door and saw Miss Parkinson lying on the floor, unable to move. I, of course, couldn't do anything myself so I immediately returned to the Astronomy Tower where I had just seen Miss Weasley sitting alone – and looking rather forlorn, I might add." Nick sounded surprisingly concerned about Ginny but didn't dwell on it. "It took some persuading but I managed to convince her to help Miss Parkinson."

Thinking back, I knew Ginny had been out that night and had assumed she was with Harry. And she knew I had been out – that's why she confronted me at the Quidditch pitch the following day. The question now was: did she know I was the one who attacked Parkinson and was trying to get me to confess to her? Or was she simply worried about where I had been?

"What did Parkinson do after Ginny found her?" I asked, knowing that the Slytherin wouldn't simply have said _thank you_ and gone on her merry way.

"Well, as you can imagine, she wasn't very happy," Nick said, stating the obvious. "She began asking Miss Weasley if '_she_' sent her, referring to you, of course." I laughed humourlessly. Of course Parkinson would think that Ginny was my co-conspirator. "Finally, she realised that Miss Weasley had no idea what was going on and blackmailed her into keeping quiet," the ghost finished.

The pieces of the puzzle put themselves together in my head and I nodded, speaking slowly and quietly, "She threatened to tell everyone about Ginny and Harry if Ginny didn't keep her mouth shut."

"And the mystery is solved, as they say!" Nick exclaimed dramatically, launching himself into the air and gesturing with his hands.

I still didn't know if Ginny knew it was me who was responsible for her having to come to Parkinson's rescue, but it certainly explained why she was reluctant to talk to me about it.

"I have one more question for you," I said abruptly to Nick, who was floating high above me, inspecting a portrait.

"And what might that be?" He inquired, floating down to me again.

"Why did you tell Ginny to help Parkinson? To help _me_? The ghosts may know everything that goes on in the school, but they rarely interfere…" I trailed off, hoping he would fill in the blanks.

To my dismay, Nick's face became sombre and he looked to the high ceiling above him. "While I was alive, Miss Granger, I did very little to be proud of. I wasn't intelligent, I wasn't brave…" His gaze lowered and he stared straight at me. "In fact, I was so scared of my own fate and death that I chose this feeble imitation of life, rather than to cross over and be where I am supposed to be." A sad smile tugged at the ghost's lips before he continued. "In this afterlife, if I can find ways to prove my loyalty to the House of Gryffindor – no matter how seemingly trivial – then I shall do so."

Death wasn't something I had ever really thought about. Being friends with Harry Potter came with annual threats to my life, of course, but it still wasn't something that ever stuck in my mind. Hearing Sir Nicholas speak of his regret in life and his desire to redeem himself in death made me feel oddly hopeful.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you decided to stay here amongst the living," I offered, smiling sincerely. "Being a Gryffindor wouldn't be the same without Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington watching over us." And it was true. As every student completes their education and moves on, peers soon become half-remembered and eventually slip from minds altogether – like the sands of time. Nearly Headless Nick, however, stays with them forever.

"You are uncommonly kind, my dear," Nick declared, puffing his chest out with pride. He continued to gaze at me for a moment before he drifted back down onto the stairs, just in front of me. "With regards to Miss Parkinson, may I give you some advice?"

"Yes. _Please_," I said, my voice almost begging.

"I have always found that Printis Runbright provides the answers to questions that most witches and wizards are too afraid to ask," Nick announced, cryptically. I frowned.

"Er… that's not advice," I replied in a confused voice. A knowing smile appeared on the ghost's face, before he inclined his head in my direction.

"Good night, Miss Granger."

"No, wait! Who is Print–" I began, before cutting myself off, knowing I was too late. Nearly Headless Nick had already disappeared, once again leaving me alone in the empty halls of the castle.

I slumped against the wall and ran a hand through my bushy hair, not feeling remotely tired anymore. The amount of information I had just received left my mind racing. I understood Ginny's odd behaviour a bit more now. I understood that Parkinson seemed to be just as horrible to Ginny as she was to me. I even understood Nearly Headless Nick slightly better.

But I would have traded all of that just to know who on earth Printis Runbright was.


	7. Elusive

**A/N: Many thanks to everyone for their continued support, it really does mean the world to me :)**

* * *

**Elusive**

"What did McGonagall say?"

"Is it true Parkinson got _expelled_?"

"What is going on with you two?"

To say the Gryffindors had been curious when I finally made it back to the Tower that night would be an understatement. It seemed like everyone had a question or an opinion, ranging from the obvious to the idiotic. For the most part I was able to dodge their interrogations; Harry, Ron and Ginny, however, proved harder to shake off.

I explained what McGonagall said to us both, told them we both got two days detention and that there was nothing more to it.

"But what the bloody hell happened?!" Ron had demanded of me, while Ginny simply huffed that she wasn't there to see it first-hand. Harry seemed more pensive but was still struggling to understand. Eventually I managed to slip off to bed with the promise of talking about it more tomorrow. I had no intention of talking about it more tomorrow; not with the boys, at least. Ginny, on the other hand, I did want to talk to and I got my chance the following morning.

With it being a Saturday, most chose to sleep late, with many of the older students forgoing breakfast altogether. Luckily for me, Ginny seemed to be having the same trouble sleeping as I was and was down in the Great Hall bright and early. Parkinson, apparently, wasn't an early riser; there was no sign of her at the Slytherin table. I noticed that Malfoy wasn't there either but I had little time to dwell on their absence, due to their peers periodically (and deliberately) glaring in my direction and whispering conspiratorially to each other. _Fabulous. As if things weren't bad enough, I now have every sixth year Slytherin baying for my blood._

"Ignore them," Ginny said from beside me on the bench, glaring right back at them. _Easy for you to say. They're not directing it at you…_

"Hey, Gin, can we maybe go for a walk?" I began, searching for something to distract me. "I want to talk to you about something." The red-head looked a bit surprised but quickly regained her composure, smiling.

"Of course. Just let me finish this bacon."

Ginny then proceeded to wolf down what remained of her breakfast, reminding me so much of Ron; the Weasley appetite was notorious, after all. I couldn't help but smile at her.

Within fifteen minutes the pair of us were walking the grounds of the castle, slowly drifting towards the Black Lake. Due to the early hour, there was nobody outside braving the frigid, autumn air with us. It was an unusual occurrence to not have to share the vast expanse of Hogwarts with anyone else and it was something I treasured any time it happened, even now, as I pulled my cloak closer to me in an attempt to shield myself from the penetrating cold.

"So, McGonagall is really pissed at you, then?" Ginny asked, trying to sum up what we had started talking about.

"I don't know," I replied, honestly. "I don't think so; just disappointed." Admitting that out loud was hard. Having someone be disappointed in me was the worst possible punishment. I would have preferred McGonagall to be angry or annoyed with me but I knew that wasn't the case. "I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm lying to her," I added, in a small voice.

"Are you?" Ginny asked, tentatively, after a moment's pause.

I looked to the ground, nudging a stone with the point of my shoe as we both continued our sluggish pace. "I may be omitting a few details but I'm not lying," I declared, looking to Ginny, who met my gaze before letting out a light chuckle. "Things are too strange right now for me to know what the truth is," I finished, my tone more serious.

The red-head frowned. "Strange how?"

I sighed and looked off into the distance, seeing the giant squid momentarily peek out from under the surface of the lake. "Parkinson and I," I started, trying to put it into words but not knowing how. I sighed again and ran a frustrated hand through my hair. "It's like… everything she does annoys me ten times more than it ever has before, and it seems like she feels the same about me." I was gesturing wildly without meaning to and I saw Ginny's frown deepen. "And it has gone beyond just annoyance; it's like she has got under my _skin_." I clenched both my fists in front of me as I tried and failed to explain what was going on inside me.

A pale hand reached over and rested on one of my still-clenched fists, effectively bringing me to standstill. Ginny came to a stop in front of me and our eyes met. Her face betrayed emotions of alarm, intrigue and confusion. We simply looked at one another for a moment before my friend spoke. "Exactly how much time are you two spending together?"

I opened my mouth to respond but no words came out. I cast my eyes to the ground and lowered my hand from Ginny's touch. "The harder we try to stay away from each other, the more we seem to be thrust together, in one way or another." And it was true. It just didn't seem to be possible for us to ignore or disregard each other anymore. It was as if the universe was playing some sort of cruel, sadistic joke at our expense.

"She hasn't hurt you, has she?" Ginny asked, abruptly, sounding suddenly anxious. My eyebrows rose in surprise at her sudden outburst.

"Maybe my pride a little," I admitted. "But, no, nothing like that."

Ginny and I had begun to walk again, a low sun now visible in the sky in front of us, helping to ease the sharpness in the air. We walked in silence for a moment, both looking out at the beauty surrounding us, our breaths misting.

"Be careful of her, Hermione," Ginny said, breaking the peaceful silence, still looking straight ahead. "She's a Slytherin. And she's more manipulative than most. You know that better than I do."

She was right; I did know that. But there were other things I knew about Parkinson that nobody else at Hogwarts did. It wasn't thoughts of her manipulative side that kept me awake at night, it was thoughts of her human side.

"Just, promise you'll tell me if things get any worse, okay?" The red-head implored, turning to look at me.

"Okay," I said, sounding somewhat flippant. Ginny suddenly stopped walking again and lightly gripped my upper arm, making me stop too.

"I'm serious, Hermione." The look in my friend's eyes was intense and I saw genuine worry. Now that she knew the gist of what was happening between Parkinson and I, it may not be a bad thing knowing I could talk to her if and when I needed to…

"Okay, I promise," I replied again, this time sounding sincere, adding a smile in an attempt to assuage the slight tension that had arisen between us. Ginny nodded and after a gentle squeeze on my arm, let go and we continued walking.

"So, since it was me who started that topic of conversation, what did you want to talk to me about?" Ginny asked, after a moment's pause. I had almost forgotten that I wasn't here to talk about Parkinson. Not directly, anyway.

We had reached one of a series of ornate, stone benches near the banks of the Black Lake and I gestured for Ginny to sit down. I followed suit, keeping my hands in my pockets as Ginny watched me, expectantly.

"I had an interesting conversation with Nearly Headless Nick last night…" I said carefully, trailing off and watching for Ginny's reaction. She looked away from me and fidgeted with her hands, before folding them in her lap.

"Oh? About what?" She asked, in a would-be curious voice.

"I think you know what we talked about," I declared, gently, deciding there was no point in beating about the bush anymore. Ginny visibly swallowed and nodded, almost imperceptibly, finally facing me again.

"I think I do, too, but I'd really like you to say it."

"You're the one who found her that night," I said, without hesitation. "Parkinson."

"And you're the one who hexed her," Ginny replied slowly, not as a question but as a statement.

And there it was; out in the open, after days of buts and maybes. We sat there; two friends feeling relieved after getting the weight of the world off our shoulders.

"How long have you known?" I asked, after a few moments of silence.

"I _didn't_ know; not for certain. Not until just now," the red-head confessed.

"But you had your suspicions?" I surmised, raising an eyebrow. Ginny smiled at me and shifted herself into a more comfortable position on the bench.

"The fact that I saw you asleep in the common room that night when I got back, I knew you'd been out late. That, combined with how you reacted when Ron told us Parkinson was in the Hospital Wing and how defensive you got when I tried to talk to you that day at Quidditch training, made me think it could have been you."

I nodded and smiled internally, making a mental note to suggest a career in law enforcement at a more appropriate time.

"Why did you hex her, anyway?" Ginny asked with a smirk, after another pause, her curiosity clearly bubbling over. My mind travelled back to that night and after a moment of thought, I replied as honestly as I could.

"She pissed me off."

The pair of us dissolved into laughter. Genuine laughter. And it was the best feeling I had had in weeks. It was then that I realised just how much I had missed Ginny. Sure, we had seen each other every day, spoken every day and even done homework together but there was still an underlying awkwardness and now, knowing that was gone, made me feel incredibly happy.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny blurted out. I frowned.

"For what?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"For not just talking to you about it. For not talking to you about Harry and me. For generally making things weird between us for the last few weeks." My friend seemed disappointed in herself and was shaking her head in a self-deprecating manner. Reaching out, I clasped my hand around her fingers and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, in that case," I began. "I'm sorry for not telling you about the weirdness between me and Parkinson. And for being so defensive when you _did_ try to talk to me."

We exchanged smiles of understanding and relief and simply sat there watching as the morning took full control over the dawn. The sun was as high and powerful as it was going to be that day and the dewy grass was sparkling all around us.

"Remember when life at Hogwarts used to be nice and simple?" Ginny asked, softly. I craned my neck to look at her and raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"No," I said, chuckling simultaneously. The red-head burst out laughing at my response before sighing in realisation.

"Actually, yeah, me neither."

* * *

I spent most of the rest of the weekend in the library trying to find out anything I could about Printis Runbright. To say he was elusive would be putting it mildly; the man didn't seem to exist. I poured over tomes for hours on end; books detailing magical scholars from as far back as the seventeenth century, but there was no mention of his name. Madam Pince only served to exacerbate my frustrations when I asked for her help ("Miss Granger, I'm surprised at you! I only have _real_ books in my library!"). I even wandered the halls aimlessly, hoping to come across Nick again so I could ask him exactly who or what I was looking for, but there was no sign of him anywhere. That's the thing about ghosts: when you actually want to see one they are nowhere to be found.

Despite feeling disheartened, I didn't give up. Not even when Parkinson appeared in the library on Saturday afternoon, making it virtually impossible for me to concentrate. She sat alone at a table on the other side of the room and seemed to spend the entire evening reading one very old and shabby looking book. I caught the Slytherin staring at me several times, quickly looking away again when I met her gaze. When Harry and Ron turned up at around six-thirty to let me know they were going for dinner, Parkinson gathered her things and disappeared before the boys even realised she was there.

After a restless night, followed by breakfast on Sunday morning, I returned to the library and resumed my still fruitless search for Printis Runbright. Sometime after two in the afternoon, Parkinson appeared again and sat in the same seat she had occupied the day before, continuing her reading.

I was beginning to feel like she was following me but I couldn't think of any reason why. I spent so long thinking of potential reasons, in fact, that before I knew it, it was after five o'clock. Through the enormous stained-glass windows around me I could tell the sun was beginning to set, sending columns of striking, coloured light across the floor.

I sighed and massaged my temples, trying to relieve what had gradually become a constant headache. Although, I had to admit, the last couple of days I hadn't felt quite so bad. Deciding that further research tonight was pointless, I began gathering my things. My satchel was nearly bursting at the seams and I struggled to toss it over my shoulder as I walked past Parkinson.

Her green eyes never left me as I strode past her and when I reached the door I was overcome by a heavenly, intoxicating scent – one that I was sure I had come across before but couldn't remember where. I closed my eyes and let a feeling of pure relaxation and happiness take me over for the briefest moment. As soon as it came, it was gone again and without conscious thought I turned to stare at Parkinson. Her eyes were still trained on me but there was now a look of surprise on her face, almost as if she knew what had just happened. She slowly closed the book she had been reading and made to stand up. My heart rate increased and I flung the door open, feeling like I was escaping from a prison cell.

I stormed down the hallway as fast as I could without running but it wasn't quick enough. Somebody was running behind me and I knew it was her without having to turn round. A strong grip wrapped itself around my wrist and I turned, anger fuelling my outburst.

"What?!" I barked out at Parkinson. "What do you want? Why have you been following me all weekend?" The Slytherin pulled her hand away from me sharply, as if burned.

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger," she sneered, but it lacked its usual bite. "All I want to know is what McGonagall talked to you about the other night after I left. I think I have a right to know." Somehow I didn't believe her. If that were the case she could easily have come to me sooner. What she had effectively been doing all weekend was _spying_ on me.

I eyed her suspiciously for a moment before my anger subsided. "You won't be getting into any trouble if that's what you're asking," I informed her, believing it to be the truth. All she did as a response was give me a curt nod. "What about Snape?" I asked curiously, remembering how he had acted that night.

"What do you mean?" Parkinson replied instantly, her voice sounding oddly high and her stance becoming defensive.

"Well, it didn't exactly look like he was going to walk you back to your dormitory and tuck you into bed," I clarified, frowning.

"Yeah, well," she mumbled, looking off down the corridor. "What we talked about doesn't concern you," she finished, looking to the ground as she spoke.

Something definitely wasn't right here. Parkinson seemed flustered and on edge and it really didn't suit her. In fact, it was downright disconcerting. Whatever was going on between the two of us obviously wasn't the only thing she had on her mind and I had a feeling Snape had something to do with it.

"Fine," I replied, nodding, not really knowing what else to say. I thought our conversation was over but Parkinson continued to stand there, fidgeting and glancing behind her. "Is there something else?" I asked, starting to feel a bit paranoid. The Slytherin visibly swallowed and stared at me for a moment before answering.

"What were you looking for in the library?"

Of all the things I thought she would say, that wasn't even on my radar and I'm sure the surprise showed on my face. Clearly she really _had_ been spying on me. "I wasn't looking for anything," I answered, in a monotone.

"It certainly seemed like you were," Parkinson countered, almost aggressively. My brow furrowed in a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance.

"What business is it of yours what I was doing?" I retorted, unconsciously taking a small step towards her.

Before Parkinson could answer, heavy footfalls and laughter could be heard echoing off the walls around us and before I knew it, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode had appeared from around the corner. Upon seeing Parkinson they all stopped and their laughter fell away when they saw that she was standing with me. I took a step back from Parkinson and it was only then that she realised we were no longer alone.

The Slytherin looked to her gang of friends and they all smirked at her, clearly waiting for her to continue what they thought was just another routine humiliation of me. I couldn't be sure but Parkinson looked momentarily irritated by her friends' interruption. Slowly she turned her attention back to me and for a minute her expression betrayed no emotion; we just stared at one another. Suddenly, a mask (for I knew it was simply a mask this time) of contempt shrouded her and she threw a vile smirk my way.

"Have fun in detention tomorrow, Granger," she drawled, sounding more like the Parkinson I knew, before walking away in the opposite direction; away, even, from her friends.

"Hey, Pansy!" Greengrass shouted after her, clearly surprised by her friend's actions. "Come on, we're going down to watch Quidditch practice."

"I'm busy," Parkinson called back, not turning round or even breaking stride. She just continued to walk away and we all watched her until she disappeared from view.

Instinctively I turned to look at Greengrass, only to see her already staring at me, a disgusted look on her face. "What did you say to her_, Mudblood_?" I chanced a glance towards Bullstrode and Tracey Davis and they, too, were scowling at me with contempt.

Scoffing, I rolled my eyes and maneuvered past them, just wanting to get away. I felt someone grab my upper arm and I was flung back round, coming face-to-face with Greengrass. "We're not done yet," she spat.

Just like it had with Ron, a veil of red-hot fury descended over my eyes and before I knew it I had lunged forward and my wand was now at Greengrass's throat. "I think we are," I growled out, my voice low. "You looked relieved to get away from me at the Duelling Club, Greengrass. How's about we have our own little duel right here?" The blonde's eyes went wide and she looked surprised and panicked to have me react that way. Bullstrode and Davis had drawn their wands now too, looking to each other, then to Greengrass, not knowing what to do.

"We'll see how cocky you are when McGonagall hears about this," I heard the deep, unmistakable voice of Millicent Bultrode say. "You're in enough trouble already, Granger. You'll be in it up to your neck now."

At Bullstrode's words I seemed to snap out of my momentary rage, just like I had with Ron, feeling just as much shame, shock and regret. This situation was different, though. I couldn't just give up and run away; these Slytherins could hang me out to dry. I had to think fast.

"Maybe so," I conceded, trying to uphold my brash, aggressive exterior. "But when I tell McGonagall you called me a Mudblood you'll be right there with me," I reminded them, my eyes boring into Greengrass's, my voice shakier than I would have liked. "You know what her stance is on that."

Three sets of eyes darted between me and each other and after an agonising pause, Greengrass begrudgingly nodded at me, her lip curling. I removed my wand from her throat and pushed her away from me, still keeping my wand poised. One by one we all backed away, each knowing that nothing would be reported, until I was running up the main staircase with tears streaming down my face.


	8. Printis Runbright

**Printis Runbright**

_I am standing alone in the Forbidden Forest, frantically looking around me, my heart racing. I have been running; my breathing is erratic. I feel my legs burning with exhaustion._

_I lean down, resting my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath. I hear the rustle of leaves and branches – the tell-tale sign that someone is walking towards me through the undergrowth. I grope blindly for my wand. It isn't there. Where is my wand?_

_I relax when I see Harry emerge from the brush. His face is expressionless but I still smile upon recognising him._

"_Harry, what are we doing here?" I ask._

"_Haven't you figured it out yet?" He replies, still betraying no emotion. I frown._

"_You can't be trusted," another voice states from behind him and I see Ron step out, coming to a stop beside his friend._

"_What are you talking about?" I breathe out, shaking my head at Ron. "We're friends; of course you can trust me."_

"_You lied to us," yet another voice says and I see Ginny appear beside her brother. "You lied to __**me**__." Unlike the other two, she has a look of pure disgust and disappointment on her face._

"_No, no!" I cry out, stepping forward and reaching out my hand. "Ginny, please."_

_All three draw their wands and point them directly at me. I instinctively reach for mine again, forgetting it isn't there. Where is my wand!_

"_Don't come any closer, Hermione," Harry commands. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."_

_I look to Ron with pleading eyes, only to see him staring past me. There is something behind me; I can feel it._

_I whip around and see a line of Slytherins standing there, each of them with their wands on me, too. I recognise all the faces but the only one that really stands out is Malfoy's – pale and gaunt, just like always._

"_Who gets to do the honours?" He sneers, looking straight through me. I turn my attention back to Harry, seeing him smirk right back at his nemesis. _

"_H-Harry," I sob out, tears prickling and spilling over. "Please. What did I do?" I beg for answers, my legs finally giving out, falling to my knees. "Please…"_

_I feel a strong grip around my upper arm and I am roughly pulled back up to my feet. I stumble and my eyes widen when I see Parkinson holding onto me. She isn't looking at me. She hasn't even glanced at me._

"_She's coming with me," Parkinson declares, glaring at Ginny. The Slytherins have lowered their wands and are slowly starting to walk away, one by one._

"_What's going on?" I shriek out, while Parkinson's grip on my arm gets tighter and tighter. "Stop it! You're hurting me!" I cry, trying to struggle out of Parkinson's grasp._

"_She doesn't belong to you," Ginny snarls, coming closer to us. Parkinson laughs._

"_Of course she does." She raises her wand and points it at Ginny in warning. But it isn't her wand; it's __**my**__ wand. Why does she have my wand? "She owes me."_

_A hex shoots past my head, hitting a nearby tree. A low rumbling noise comes from Parkinson._

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!" _

_Ginny lies motionless on the forest floor. _

"_No!" I try to scream out but it is nothing more than raspy breath. "Ginny!" I am being dragged away, Ginny's lifeless body is being torn from my view. "GINNY!"_

"GINNY!" I cried out, jerking awake. Looking around me I saw that I was in bed, my dorm mates still sleeping soundly despite my outburst. I could feel the sweat that had soaked through my nightdress and I reached up to wipe beads of moisture from my brow.

That was probably the most terrifying dream I had ever had, for several reasons. My best friends had turned on me, people whom I despise walked away from the chance of killing me and Parkinson… Parkinson had killed Ginny.

I flung the bed clothes off myself and sat on the edge of the bed, my feet touching the freezing cold floor. I needed to ground myself, to bring myself back to reality and out of my dream. I was surprised that I managed to fall asleep at all after what happened with Greengrass and the others earlier. I had actually scared myself with the extent of my fury and I was dreading seeing the three of them again. Merlin only knows what they told Parkinson about the whole thing.

Falling back onto the mattress, I threw an arm over my face, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. _It was just a dream. It was just a dream_.

* * *

The following morning during Transfiguration class I made a conscious effort to participate more, in an attempt to get back into McGonagall's good books. I wasn't sure how successful I had been until class was over.

"Miss Granger, may I have a word?" She requested, her voice rising over the din as all the other students filed out of her classroom. I muttered to Harry and Ron that I would catch up with them and walked up to McGonagall's desk, waiting for the last few stragglers to leave.

There was a slightly awkward pause while my Head of House simply tidied away her notes and got out new ones, presumably for her next class. When she did finally turn her attention to me, a small smile danced across her lips.

"It's good to see you more like yourself, Miss Granger," she said, peering over her spectacles. With the memories of our last exchange still fresh in my mind, I did little more than smile shyly at her, not trusting myself to speak. "Madam Pince tells me you spent much of the weekend in the library?" It was phrased as a question but I wasn't sure how to respond. It almost sounded like a trick question.

"Yes, I was," I replied, tamely. "I wanted to catch up on my reading."

A kinder and more genuine smile graced McGonagall's features on hearing my response. I hated the way she had been looking me the last few days – like a poor baby deer learning to walk. "Just remember to find the balance between school work and fun," she said, surprising me. I didn't think she was an advocator of fun in any sense of the word, unless it had something to do with Quidditch. "Don't overcompensate with either."

I smiled and nodded my understanding before turning to leave.

"Oh, and, Miss Granger?" McGonagall announced, effectively calling me back. "Don't forget, Professor Slughorn will be expecting you at seven o'clock."

_How could I forget?_

"Yes, Professor."

And so, off I trundled to detention after dinner that evening, feeling like I truly deserved it; if not for the incident with Parkinson, then certainly for what transpired last night. Slughorn, rather than treating me like a student in detention, treated me like a colleague who had offered him a helping hand. He asked me to re-organise the Potions supply cupboard into alphabetical order and when I was done, thanked me profusely. My last job of the evening was to re-label the jars and vials that had become worn and yellowed through years of neglect.

As I worked, my mind wandered and inevitably it came back to Parkinson, which, in turn, led me to Printis Runbright. It was becoming clear that I wasn't going to find out anything about him through conventional methods. Not one single book in the library even mentioned his name, never mind anything about him as a person. Perhaps I should simply start asking people if they knew anything about him and hope for the best…

"Professor, may I ask you something?" My voice cut through the silence as I attached a new label to a jar of bat spleens, deciding there was no time like the present.

"Of course, Miss Granger," Slughorn replied happily, as he sat at his desk scribbling something emphatically on a student's essay with an oddly flamboyant quill.

"Have you…" I began, before trailing off again, feeling oddly cautious. I had no idea how he would react and after the way Madam Pince lambasted me, I was feeling a bit nervous. "Have you ever heard of a man named Printis Runbright?"

Professor Slughorn stopped writing and stared at me blankly for a moment, before bursting into laughter, his shoulders shrugging up and down with mirth. "My dear girl!" He boomed. "Why on earth would you want to read that nonsense?"

My heart sank at his words and in an attempt to cover my obvious disappointment, I turned my attention back to re-labelling the jars. "Nonsense?" I questioned, as nonchalantly as possible.

Slughorn's smile faded and he looked conflicted, like he wasn't sure if he should enter into this conversation with a student. He set down his quill and paused before speaking again.

"Printis Runbright was a fifteenth century charlatan, nothing more. His _research_ was based on a blatant misunderstanding of potion making and remains largely unproved." Slughorn said the word _research_ with something bordering on disgust. The vials of dragon's blood would have to wait, as he now held my full attention. "He came from a time when myths and archaic superstitions were rampant and widely believed to be truth. He preyed on the fears and longings of the simple-minded and the uneducated to make a name for himself. If you are looking to widen your knowledge of potion making, Miss Granger, you're looking for the wrong man."

I sat there gaping at Slughorn. I wasn't sure what I was expecting from Printis Runbright but that certainly wasn't it. He sounded about as credible as all those Divination 'scholars' that I despised – making a living by taking advantage of the gullible. What was Nearly Headless Nick thinking when he recommended Prinits Runbright to me? He knew my feelings on people like that as well as any student or teacher.

"What kind of things did he write about, Sir?" I inquired, more interested than ever. Slughorn seemed startled and cleared his throat before answering.

"Like I said, Miss Granger, he wrote _nonsense_." Slughorn's reluctance to tell me anything about Prinits Runbright only made me more curious and I think he was starting to sense that. "If you want, I can make you a list of Potions Masters who–"

"Have you ever read any of his books, Professor?" I blurted out, interrupting Slughorn's attempt to curtail the topic of conversation. He looked beyond perplexed by my incessant questioning.

"Well… I…" He stuttered, before looking sheepish and sighing in resignation. "We were all young once," he said, evasively. "My curiosity got the better of me when I began my higher learning of Potions." Slughorn sat back in his chair and tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat. "Needless to say, I learnt nothing of any value and neither will you, my dear. At any rate, you won't find any of his books here at the school."

I nodded in acknowledgement, having already figured as much myself. "Thank you, Sir," I said, sincerely. As vague as he was, Professor Slughorn did give me my first tendrils of information about the elusive Runbright.

"How ever did you come across his name, if you don't mind me asking?" Such an easy question, and yet, it made me blanch. What was I supposed to say? That a ghost told me about him as a way to deal with a Slytherin that I just can't seem to stay away from?

"Oh… I…" I stammered, trying to keep my cool. "I don't remember; just in an old book."

My Professor gave me a queer look. He was notorious for ignoring what was right in front of his face when it came to his students but not right now, it would seem: he knew I was lying. I watched while a pensive look clouded his face and waited for a counter statement that never came. Instead, Slughorn smiled at me.

"Perhaps that is enough for tonight; you wouldn't want to spoil all the fun for tomorrow, after all!" He said with a chuckle, clearly anxious to bring the conversation back to a normal exchange between teacher and student. "You can finish the re-labelling tomorrow evening, my dear."

With a smile, I began packing up my things. "Goodnight, Sir," I said, throwing my bag over my shoulder and leaving the dungeon classroom.

It was almost nine o'clock and the halls of the castle were virtually deserted; the only people permitted to be out this late were prefects. Or people coming back from detention. Either way, I could argue my case if interrogated.

As I walked up the steps that separated the dungeon classrooms from the ground floor of the school, I became aware of a figure standing at the top of the stairs. The closer I got, the more the figure came into focus and it didn't take long for me to recognise who it was. It was Parkinson.

"Took you long enough," she said, by way of a greeting, sounding mildly irritated.

"I'm sorry?" I said, feeling completely lost. We hadn't arranged this.

Parkinson's lips formed a tight line and she moved forward, grabbing my upper arm, guiding me towards a nearby classroom. Her actions provoked memories of the dream I had the night before and it made me all the more hostile in trying to pull away from her.

"Get your hands off me!" I growled out when we had crossed the threshold, wrenching my arm from her grip. "Is this how you always get people's attention? By pulling them into classrooms or accosting them when they leave the library?" I accused, indignantly.

"Only the ones I dislike, Granger," she replied, sounding distracted. The Slytherin let her bag fall from her shoulder onto the ground and then remained standing there, motionless and silent. I tilted my head back and sighed, exasperated.

"I'm tired, Parkinson; what do you want?" I demanded, shaking my head in disbelief that my night was ending alongside the Slytherin. Again.

"What did you say to McGonagall about me?"

My eyebrows rose and I laughed, humourlessly. "I'm pretty sure we've already had this conversation," I reminded her, getting tired of her attitude.

"Well, I'm asking again," she stated aggressively, taking a step towards me. Her face was hard and I quickly realised this was no time to antagonise her.

"I told you, I didn't say anything that would get you in trouble," I replied calmly, reiterating my sentiments from the day before.

"Really? Then why did I have to spend the first night of my detention listening to her, oh-so-subtly, tell me to stay away from you?" Parkinson barked out, her head tilted to the side, awaiting an answer. I frowned, genuinely surprised by McGonagall's actions.

"She did what?" I asked quietly, my incredulity coming through.

"Yeah," Parkinson said after a moment, stepping back from me again, clearly catching onto the fact that I had no idea why McGonagall was acting that way. "Apparently, I'm having a negative effect on you."

A negative effect on me? What did that even mean? It's not like we were best friends who ran around the school wreaking havoc. As far as our Professor knew, we were two opposing students who had simply been having an ongoing argument. Many students at Hogwarts could boast the same situation, not least Harry and Malfoy. As far as I was concerned, Parkinson and I were something along the same lines, albeit slightly more unorthodox.

"I didn't tell her _anything_ about what's been going on," I stated, vehemently.

"Well, whatever you _did_ tell her, she obviously doesn't believe a word of it," Parkinson countered. Her words annoyed me; not necessarily because she said it, but because I already knew it was true and didn't care for the reminder.

I moved further into the classroom and rested my weight against one of the tables, rubbing my temples to try and ease the exhaustion and constant ache. The Slytherin mirrored my movements and planted herself against the desk beside me.

"She… She told me you defended me," Parkinson said after a few moments of silence. "About what happened. She said…" Parkinson was fumbling over her words and it made her seem vulnerable. The more vulnerable she was, the more I wanted to hear what she had to say. "You told her it wasn't my fault," she finally got out. I was staring unabashedly at her and a part of me wanted to drag this out and make her feel inferior. But I couldn't do it. The way she looked right now, I just couldn't do it. I knew what she was talking about.

"Yeah, well," I began, looking away and focusing on anything else but Parkinson. "I was saving my own skin as much as yours."

An eerie quiet descended over the two of us; it wasn't awkward but it wasn't comfortable either. After speaking with Slughorn I was feeling rather let down by the whole Printis Runbright debacle. Somehow, thanks to Nearly Headless Nick, I had pinned my hopes on him being able to fix whatever was going on between Parkinson and I. Now all I was pinning my hopes on was the pair of us coming to some sort of détente and going back to our normal lives.

"Maybe McGonagall is right," I said, gently probing the peaceful quiet.

"About what?" The Slytherin asked, her voice wary.

"Maybe we should just stay away from each other," I offered, turning to face Parkinson, seeing her already looking in my direction. "I mean, we did it pretty successfully for nearly six years," I continued, giving a small smile, hoping she would return it. She didn't. Instead, her face creased in frustration and she pushed off the table she had been leaning on.

"If only it were that simple," she muttered, looking down at her feet.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion, suddenly feeling like this conversation had taken a turn for the worse.

Parkinson gave me a peculiar look for a moment before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, in and out. She then reached for her discarded bag and took out a very old and shabby looking hardback book that I had seen her with before. Long fingers clasped at the edges of the ancient volume before the Slytherin slowly and begrudgingly handed it to me. I surveyed Parkinson with more than a little suspicion and when I looked down at the book she had given to me, my suspicion morphed into a mixture of disbelief and anger.

"Where did you get this?" I shouted, pointing the book at her.

"Just read it," Parkinson replied, sounding pained. "Then we can talk." She then turned away and moved to lift her bag off the floor, wanting to leave.

I sprang off the table I was propped against, grasping Parkinson's wrist and forcing her to face me again. "How did you know I was looking for this?" I demanded of her, my voice desperate and out of control. The Slytherin's green eyes met my own and the sadness I saw made me let go of her.

"Because last week I was looking for it too," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. With that revelation, I unconsciously took a step away from her and she took the opportunity to flee, making the door of the classroom slam shut with more noise than was wise for that time of night, but I didn't care.

I stood staring in Parkinson's wake for a moment before I looked down at the book again; the book I had been coveting all weekend and now suddenly wanted nothing to do with:

_**Singular Sensibilities in Alchemy and Potion Making by Printis Runbright**_**.**


End file.
